Train Wreck
by Wendy Vermonter
Summary: The agents struggle to keep their lives and careers intact!
1. Chapter 1

Train Wreck

Introduction: The agents struggle to keep their lives and careers intact.

Part 1.

Jim dropped his forehead onto his hands on the table, groaning. "You don't want to see this, trust me." His fingers closed on a piece of paper, crushing it, obscuring the jumble of numbers written on the sheet.

Artie looked up from his writing and chuckled, thinking how his partner could have performed in a dramatic tragedy on stage. "It can't be that bad," he said, nodding to the crumbled paper. His nod went unnoticed so he reached out a thumb and finger to pull at a corner of the sheet still firmly in Jim's grasp. "Let me add it up and we can split it, just like we always do." He let go as Jim moaned into the table cloth.

"But this is a lot of money". He let out a long sigh and sat upright again, his worried eyes meeting his partner's. He smoothed out the sheet, his fingers tracing from one column of numbers to the next. "This really adds up. It isn't another shattered door or a couple of broken windows to replace. This is a major overhaul."

"Ya, ya," Artie sighed, carefully laying the page he was writing on aside, onto a growing stack of additional pages next to him. "Look, Jim," he said quietly, tapping a finger onto the sheet he had been working with. "You know I always add a bit to these reports about how we utilize the train to make our jobs more efficient. Isn't that what Richmond is always harping at us? To be faster wrapping up one crazy assignment so we can rush into the next one?" He slapped the pen down onto his neat letters. "I barely have time to finish one report before I start taking notes of the next disaster."

Jim silently smoothed the sheet again and turned it so his partner could read it upright. "And if," Artie continued, reaching for the sheet, "well, if we don't have this train, then we will be stuck on public transportation like we used to be. No privacy, no food, no supplies, no possibility of me inventing anything…"

"No escorting people safely and quickly to Hell and back," Jim added, nodding in agreement. "I know, I know." He waited while Artie, suddenly silent, read the numbers. He watched his friend's dark eyes flick from one column to another. Artie's eyebrows, pulled together in concentration, suddenly rose to his hairline and his mouth dropped open, as choking sounds came from deep in his throat. He dropped the paper and looked up at Jim.

"This is exorbitant" Artemus gasped, tossing the sheet back to Jim's side of the table. "We can't split that unless we can start selling train tickets!"

"Now that's an idea, partner," Jim said, rubbing his eyes as his head started to pound. "We could at least charge other agents who hook rides with us!" He reached out and slipped a clean sheet of paper off his partner's pile and picked up a pen from the pile between them. Bending over, grumbling half to himself now, he started writing. "Hold on, I have an idea. You keep writing that report and I will make a list. Maybe I can add up the cost of public transportation and additional expenses that other agents are reimbursed for. If I can show the work needed on the engine will equal the costs of us living without it, it would at least give us a starting point to argue for keeping the Wanderer."

He wrote a few lines but soon his hand paused, his eyes narrowed, obviously lost in thought. The blue eyes snapped up to see Artemus watching him. "What?"

Artie let out a snort. "You don't even know how much it costs to ride a public train anymore." He laughed at his partner's obvious irritation. "When was the last time you bought a train ticket?" The brown eyes twinkled and an eyebrow arched. "You always take off on the Wanderer and leave me to catch up."

Jim sat back, his teeth grinding in anger. "Fine," he snapped, "you write the damned list." He tossed the paper to Artie and stood up, snatching his crumpled list of train costs. "I will review this with Cobb and see if I can't get some lower figures out of him. I don't think he was too sure of these numbers yet." He stomped into his boots and glanced through a side window. Outside the black horse, almost iridescent in the sun, grazed on grass beside the train. "And where the hell did your horse wonder off to?"

Artie didn't look up from his writing this time, as he muttered, "Why don't you hitch them to something when you put them out? Or at least hobble them? I am surprised they don't both wonder off."

"Because my horse is smart and knows to stay near his home," Jim said as he knelt on a chair, leaning over closer to the glass. He twisted his head back and forth, looking at either end of the train parked in the siding. "Your stupid brown horse," he growled, irritated at everything, "could at least stay near mine." He suddenly turned and walked from the room, banging through the swinging door. His footsteps retreated down the hallway and the outer front door opened and slammed shut.

Artie tossed the list aside and picked up his report again, still muttering to himself now, "it's a horse, not a pet dog."

Later, Jim was leaning on the back on the black horse, feeling the warmth of the sun radiate toward his face from the dark hide. His hand clutched the horse brush tighter as a neck muscle pinched at the base of his head.

"Now you know how much care we take working on this train," Cobb's voice was saying again, as he stood on the other side of the horse, "but there is only so much we can do." Jim's eyes stayed down, unable to look at his friend. The sound of the busy rail yard on the far side of the train, with delivery wagons and the voices of workmen, drifted to them as they talked. "And I know how busy this little old train is kept. But some days you just need to stop and do some maintenance on the big parts. Take that wheel on the right side," he said, pointing his pipe, as his hand waved at the train. "Now that may be a hairline crack today, but one more trip to San Francisco, and we could get broke down on a mountain pass. Especially if it's icy and we was to slide." Jim heard the pipe click on his engineer's teeth as he paused to puff at the tobacco. "And the firebox needs a new liner. And the boiler just has got to be sealed. It just ain't safe." Jim sighed and laid his forehead against Blackjack's warm skin, praying his head would just explode. "I thought the government paid for all this work anyway?" This question, being more direct, had to be answered.

Jim straightened and looked over the horse's back at his engineer, a tall thin man, salt and pepper whiskers giving him an aged look. "Artie and I usually split the cost of most of the maintenance. The office at Headquarters pays for the bigger work," Jim said. "But it's a lot of paperwork and a lot of questions get asked. " He grimaced at the memory of the last time he had asked for a larger reimbursement. An expensive engine part that had had to be replaced immediately, Cobb had said, or they could have been stranded. The desk clerk had handed him more forms, and started asking why one agent was given the special privilege of a private train. The conversation hadn't gone well and Jim was reluctant to return to that office. "This is going to be really expensive, much more money than I have ever asked for in the past. I just don't know if they will pay for it." He shook his head, looking at Cobb. "I know you mean well and I don't doubt the work needs to be done but I just don't know."

"There is another idea," the engineer said, his eyes twinkling. He leaned over the horse to whisper. "You could just arrest another feller with a newer train! One of the big, fast ones they make now!" The engineer waved a hand back toward the rail yard beyond the Wanderer's engine. "If you had a larger engine, you could pull twice as many cars as this small engine does. You could have a prison car, or another car for quarters."

Jim snorted, "It's not that easy. Colonel Richmond, or even President Grant, decide who I investigate. I just can't go after people because they have a train that I admire." Cobb looked away, kicking the dirt underneath the horse as he leaned on the animal now too, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Good idea though", Jim said, laughing now. "I bet there are a few rich bastards out there that need to be in jail." He took a deep breath, and leaned his forearms on the horse again, feeling the warmth of the dark hide against his bare skin. The sun was warm that morning and he had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to brush the horses. A few whistles had brought the brown horse within site but it still grazed father away, ignoring his calls. The black was obviously torn between being with its master and wanting to try the grass farther away. It sidestepped, causing both men to almost stumble since they had both been leaning against it.

Cobb straightened, stepping back. "Well I will ask around, see what I can do about the cost."

Jim nodded, brushing the horse again, calming it. "Thanks. Like I said, I know you mean well. Something will happen, something unexpected, it always does. Maybe I should find some rich people to play cards with. I could raise the money," he said, grinning at Cobb, "or gamble it all away." Cobb shook his head silently puffing on his pipe, turning to look back at the boiler and wheel.

As Jim returned to brushing Blackjack, an earsplitting explosion came from the varnish car. The horse reared and spun, knocking Jim to the ground. He fell onto his back as the shock wave blew past, covering him with shards of glass and jagged splinters of wood. He lay stunned, the air knocked from his lungs, looking up at the blue sky as it filled with black smoke. Blinking against the haze that tried to deaden his senses, his mind jumped to his partner who had been inside. Jim rolled to his hands and knees, his head swimming, "Artie," he gasped. He looked up at the varnish car to see flames leaping from the shattered windows. No one moved inside as the smoke filled car.


	2. Chapter II

Train Wreck - Part II

"No!" Jim staggered to his feet and threw himself to the stairs at the front of the Varnish car. He started to climb the few steps, steadying himself by pulling on the handrail. Just as he reached the platform he was grabbed around the waist from behind.

"Jim, you can't!" Cobb pulled his friend back from the smoke pouring from the open doorway. "He's gone! You can't go in there after him. He…" Jim spun, blind with panic, shoving the engineer away. He turned back to the train and jumped up the stairs. Cobb again pursued him, grabbing his right forearm. This time Jim turned just enough to lash out, his fist smashing Cobb in the mouth. The engineer staggered, falling backwards down the stairs landing on his back on the ground. He watched Jim disappear into the black smoke.

Jim paused in the doorway. His hands reached out to push the door open but it was broken and twisted in its frame, attached only by the lower hinge. Sliding past, he entered the hallway. It was thick with black smoke. He took a few steps past the doorway, pulling his shirt tail up and over his mouth before taking another breath. He yelled out again, "Artie!" He stumbled as the smoke choked him and he fell to his knees. The air was clear along the floor so he crawled on hands and knees along the carpet. He gasped as his palms slide over shards of broken glass, feeling pieces become embedded in his skin. He shook his hands, dislodging some of the glass and moved forward again. Soon after his hands felt solid wood and he could just see the swinging door lying on the floor. He crawled over it into the living room of the varnish car.

Flames danced along the ceiling as black smoke poured out the ragged holes on both sides of the car, holes that had been neat rows of windows. Broken glass and splinters of wood framing lay over the floor amongst toppled and burnt furniture. Jim's eyes watered and burned as he looked around the floor. He drew a breath to call out again, but choked and collapsed into a fit of coughing. He pressed his face into the carpet, desperate now for a clean breath of air. He looked again along the floor, seeing shifting swirls of grey as the smoke drifted down. His mind raged, where was his partner?

Jim crawled again farther into the room, trying to hold his breath and blink the smoke from his eyes. His head bumped into something hard. He reached up to feel a broken piece wood, realizing it was a dining room table leg. He tried to push it away but the table was on its edge now, unmovable. He continued past it into the darkness, as the tabletop blocked some of the light from the fires. He reached his hands out over the carpet, blind now and weak from the smoke. He screamed his partner's name again but got no response.

Suddenly a loud cracking sound came from overhead and he looked up to see a section of ceiling fall in a cascade of sparks and flames. It landed in the middle of the room, causing flames to shoot up from the floor, almost joining the flames reaching down from the ceiling. He ducked his head down, pressing again into the carpet, using the table as a shield from the ever increasing heat of fire in the middle of the room.

Jim reached out again and this time his right hand found a boot. Grasping his hands on his partner's feet, he pulled himself closer. The body was limp and unmoving. He ran his right hand up a leg, waist, and stomach, finally resting on his friend's side. He couldn't detect any movement, even the rising of the chest. His partner was on the floor, on his side, wedged between the back wall and the toppled dining room table.

"Artie!" Jim's voice was hoarse with smoke. He grabbed his friend, shaking at his shoulders. Leaning closer, he could just make out a face in the darkness.

"We are getting out of here," he yelled, watching closely for a sign Artie had heard him. No sound came so he wrapped his arms around his partner's waist and hugged the limp body to his chest. He slid his shoulder under Artie's chest and stomach, dropping his friend's head down his back. Crawling now with the heavy burden of an unconscious, larger man over his shoulder, he slowly moved to where he thought the doorway was to the side hallway, trying to retrace his path in the inferno.


	3. Chapter III

Train Wreck: Part III

Cobb stood on shaking legs, staggering back from the heat coming from the varnish car. He turned away from the flames as men from the rail yard rushed up. Voices all yelled at once, orders contradicting each other. Finally one older man seemed to take control.

"Get the water pails!" The man yelled at the group. "Form a line! Get moving!" The younger men ran off to a brick building nearby as he stayed with the engineer. "You're Cobb, right?" The man clasped a hand on Cobb's shoulder. "My name is Drake. I am the new foreman of the rail yard here. My men will put the fire out but are you all right? Your face is bleeding. Was it the blast? Are you burned?"

The barrage of questions was overpowering. Cobb could only shake his head as he held a handkerchief to his bleed lips. He waved a hand toward the burning varnish car. "They're in there," he moaned.

Drake turned from him to study the car, his eyes moving from doorway to window openings. "You mean someone is on board? Is there more than one inside?" He gasped, taking a step forward. He waved a hand at the smoke, trying to get a clear view of the interior. "I can't see in there. The heat must be incredible."

Cobb nodded, pointing to the flames in the center of the car. "One was on board, in the main room, when there was a huge explosion. " He moved closer to the doorway, "Then the other one ran in here. I tried to stop him but he ran inside to save his friend." He shook his head in disbelief.

"Ran inside that inferno?" The rail yard man moved closer to the car but had to leap back as the small windows in the roof peak popped outward. Shards of glass rained down to the grass below. More flames were now coming out of the top ridge of the car as flames and smoke still poured from the ragged walls that had been rows of windows. "They must both be dead by now!" The men stared at the train in silence now, listening to the roar of the flames and to the voices yelling behind them from the group of men readying the water buckets.

Cobb nodded, tears in his eyes now, "it's better this way," he said, his voice choking. "They had to go together. I can't imagine having one without the other." He nodded again, rubbing the bloody handkerchief over his eyes. "They had to go together, they were more than brothers. They couldn't…"

Just as the words were spoken, a head appeared at the doorway, and then the figure of a man bent over carrying another. "Hell fire!" The yardman exclaimed, as he rushed forward with Cobb.

"Jim!" Cobb jumped up the steps and grabbed Artie by the waist, pulling at the limp body. "It's all right, I have him!" He stepped aside with his burden as Jim collapsed onto the platform, coughing and spitting black filth from his mouth. "He'll be alright now," Cobb said, as Drake grabbed Artie's boots, helping Cobb hurry the unconscious man from the heat of the fire. The laid him on the ground nearby and Drake rushed back to the train.

Jim lay curled in a ball on the platform, in a spasm of coughs, his body shaking. Drake reached down to grasp an elbow and wrap an arm around his back. He lifted slowly, supporting Jim off the platform. "Come away from the smoke now. Come be with your friend." Jim staggered, still bent over coughing, barely able to walk and leaning heavily on the yardman.

Artemus was on his back a few yards away from the burning train. Jim collapsed, lying next to him on the cool grass, wheezing and sucking in the clean air. He reached out a hand to his friend's chest, again not finding signs of breathing. Moaning, fearing the worst, he climbed to his knees and slid his left arm under his partner's shoulders. Lifting and pulling the body to his chest, he sat back in the grass with his legs outstretched. "No, Artie!" hugging his friend tighter.

Drake stepped back to join his workers nearby, which were frantically passing buckets of water to throw at the flaming car. The men had paused to watch as Jim's urgent cries attracted their attention. Drake turned to them, yelling, "Faster with those buckets!" The men nearest the train threw pails of water into the doorway that Jim had so recently crawled through. Drake grabbed a pail and slipped past the broken door to disappear into the train's inner hallway. The men still outside passed him full pails as he threw out the empty ones.

"You got him out, Jim," Cobb said quietly. He knelt down and reached a hand to Jim's shoulder. "You did what you could; you got him out so he didn't burn up. It was the smoke that done it." He looked at Jim's face and chest, his skin black with soot and red from the heat. His once white shirt was filthy and torn, covered with bloody holes. He looked down to saw that Artemus appeared far worse.

His friend, who took pride in his pristine appearance, always impeccably dressed and neat, was worse than any fake vagrant costume the agent had ever worn. The yellow shirt and string tie were charred and crumbling. Artie's face and hair were covered with soot and his eyes were swollen shut, red from the intense heat. Angry red lines covered the left side of his face and down his neck.

Jim cradled Artie's head in his left elbow and leaned his face closer, listening for a breath. "Artie," he whispered his voice raw and throat burnt inside. He shook his friend's shoulders. "Artie, please," his voice choked again. "Wake up," he said louder, shaking him again, harder this time.

"He's gone, Jim," Cobb's soft voice said. He squeezed Jim's shoulder and stood up, turning away, unable to watch Jim's desperate expression.

"No," Jim's voice was a whisper now. He raised a shaking hand to stroke his friend's face, brushing away the burnt, black specks of ash stuck to his skin. He pushed Artie's hair back from his forehead and paused as he noticed a deep cut along the hairline. Blood was running into the dark curls of hair to soak into Jim's dirty shirt sleeve. He turned Artie's face and watched the blood, as the liquid formed red lines spreading across his skin now, down his neck soaking into the collar of his yellow shirt. He reached up to pull the deep cut open with his fingers, watching more blood pour out. Realizing his partner's heart must be beating to pump blood out of the wound, he grabbed at his friend's neck, feeling a pulse under his jaw line.

He looked up at Cobb, "He is alive. His heart is beating!" Cobb spun as Jim lifted Artie's head higher, pulling the filthy tie away from his throat. He opened the neck of the yellow shirt, easily pulling the burnt material apart, and the fingers of his right hand felt the pulse again. "Get some water," Jim snapped, nodding toward the line of men. Cobb hurried to snatch a bucket and return back with it, holding out his handkerchief. Jim grabbed at Cobb's handkerchief and dipped it into the water.

"He is just stunned, the water will help him wake up and start breathing again." Jim muttered as he wiped the wet cloth over Artie's face. "Come on, partner, enough sleeping on the job." He held the wet cloth on the bleeding forehead. "Artie, give me a sign, help me out here." After a few minutes he began to worry again as the water didn't seem to awaken his friend. His partner still lay limp in his arms. "Dammit, Artemus Gordon," Jim yelled down at his friend's face, panicking now. "Wake up!"

Jim was rewarded with a weak cough and a long moan from Artie as he turned his head, twisting in pain. His body suddenly racked with coughing and wheezing as the lungs tried to pull in fresh air. "Artie!" Jim grinned now up at Cobb, who again knelt next to him near the bucket of water. "See! He's going to be fine. Just fine," Jim said, trembling now with relief. The handkerchief fell from his fingers into the grass as his hands shook. He hugged his friend tighter to him, lowering his face into his partner's hair. "Be all right, partner, please be all right."


	4. Chapter IV

Train Wreck: Part IV

"Cobb," a soft voice said quietly. Cobb looked up to see that the yardman was back, now with a small child at his legs. "We think the fire is out. I have a few boys still inside, pulling down the walls." He looked down at Jim and Artie. "How are these fellas doing?"

Cobb looked up at him and then to the boy, "Can ya send young Johnny here for a cab? This fella is going to need a doctor, now that he has decided to rejoin us." Drake nodded down to the child and the boy turned and ran down the tracks toward the street.

Cobb stood and walked to the far side of Artemus, looking him over. "Jim," he said softly, kneeling back to the ground. He pulled at the remains of the yellow shirt. "He has some burns on his left arm and back." He moved the blackened cloth, the sleeve crumbling apart over the left arm. The skin showing was red and blistering, covered with black soot. Artie's fingers on his left hand were dark and swollen. "His hand to his shoulder is bad," Cobb muttered. "His skin is all black and blistered on his left side." He pulled at the vest, stopping when he realized the cloth was burn into the blistered red skin.

Jim picked his head up and shook it, holding Artie tighter against his chest. "No, Cobb," he said, still shaking his head, "it's just soot from the fire. That's all. He'll be fine." He picked up the handkerchief continued to wash his friend's face, speaking softly to him. "Artie, just hold on," he whispered, "we have a cab coming and then you're going to the hospital. No arguments this time either," he added, his voice choking. He looked up at Cobb, Jim's blue eyes watering now. "He hates to go near a doctor."

Cobb tried to smile, clearing his throat. "A doctor will fix him right up. We'll send him to that Doctor Lake. He won't mind him, he's seen him before." Jim nodded, dipping the cloth in the water pail again and placing it back on the bleeding forehead.

Cobb leaned over to look underneath Artie this time, pulling again at the ruined shirt and vest. "His back is burned and blistering." He reached up to the dark hair, pulling gently at the curls just above the back collar. "His head is bleeding back here too. He must have hit the back of his head." He looked up to see Jim avoiding his glance.

Cob sat up and turned to the workmen again. "Hey, one of you, get me some blankets! Hurry it up, too, this man needs attention!" He watched as one man at the end of the line ran into the brick supply building. He turned back to Jim, "We will wrap him up and keep the wounds clean. It will be a short ride to the hospital. " The man returned just as a horse drawn cab arrived. Cobb lowered a blanket onto Artie's chest and Jim moved his arms to help wrap it around his friend's shoulders and back. Drake and the boy stood nearby, holding the door open to the cab, watching silently.

"Cobb?" Jim looked up at his engineer. "Can you lift Artie for me? I don't think I can stand." The blue eyes narrowed in pain as Jim leaned over, holding Artie's body out away from him chest allowing Cobb to slip his arm behind him. "Just go slow, watch the blankets," Jim whispered, as they both held the unconscious man for a moment.

Cobb nodded, and looked toward Drake. "Come grab his feet for me", he called out. Drake hurried forward to gingerly hold up Artie's boots. The two of them walked carefully to the cab and leaned in, Cobb placing Artie's back and shoulder on the cushioned seat. He slipped into the cab and turned Artie onto his side, bending his knees so he could fit on the seat. "Jim?" He turned to see Jim on his hands and knees in the grass, clearly unable to stand on his own.

Drake turned around and ran to him, "Hold on, mister, take it slow." He gently took an arm and walked Jim to the cab. "You're not much better than your friend." Jim staggered, his bloody knees not bending or holding him up. In a few steps, they reached the doorway. Cobb stepped back as the boy still stood by the door.

"I hope your friend is alright, mister," the soft voice said as Jim reached the doorway. Jim paused, to look down at the boy. "I'm real sorry." The boy's eyes swelled with tears. "Jim reached a filthy hand to the boy's head, tussling his hair. He nodded and reached into the cab. Cobb grasped his arms and helped pull him inside.

"Hold on," Jim gasped, dragging his bloody legs and feet in. He collapsed onto the floor at Cobb's feet. He pushed himself up into a sitting position on the floor, sitting with his back to the bench with his partner lying above his shoulders. "Go back, Cobb, watch the train for me. Don't let anyone on board," Jim whispered, nodding to the engineer.

Cobb reached over to squeeze Jim's shoulder. "Don't worry about the train. Just stay with your partner." He jumped back out of the cab and yelled instructions up to the driver as Jim turned to look up at Artie's face. He was breathing now, rough sounding, but steady. Jim reached up to grab his partner's hand, squeezing his fingers. "It's all right now, buddy, it's all right." He laid his forehead against the seat as the cab lurched forward, starting its jarring ride to the hospital.


	5. Chapter V

Train Wreck V

"Jim!" The call seemed to come from far away. Jim picked his head up and squinted into the bright afternoon sun. He finally spotted his friend, Jeremy Pike, astride a horse, waving to him from the main road, surrounded by afternoon city traffic. The older agent nudged the horse forward, walking it down an alley that ran along the building where Jim sat on the outdoor upper deck. "What are you doing here? I have been looking everywhere for you."

"Sorry, Jer," Jim sighed, lowering his forehead back to his arms crossed on the table. "It's been a tough day."

Jeremy slide from his saddle and dropped to the ground. He made his way up an outside staircase to reach the deck on which Jim sat at a simple wooden table. A few chairs were scattered nearby, one with a blanket left strewn across it. "I was at the train, Jim," Jeremy said softly, coming to the table and looking down at his friend. Jim sat back slowly as Jeremy approached. "What the hell happened? Cobb said Artie was hurt and brought to Dr. Lake's hospital." His eyes moved from Jim's face, black with soot, to his clothes which were torn and bloody. "My God, Jim, you look terrible yourself."

Jim nodded slowly. He took a breath to speak, but instead, broke into a coughing fit. He reached for a nearby glass of water, drinking and coughing at the same time. Tears poured from his eyes, making clean lines in the filth on his cheeks.

Jeremy pulled up a chair and waited silently as Jim calmed his breathing. He inspected his friend's condition. The white shirt was soaked with blood on the sleeves and front, more blood than Jim seemed to have injuries for.

Jim set the glass down and stared at black spit in the water swirling in the sunlight. "He's bad, Jer." Jim's soft voice was hoarse, he cleared it again. "There was an explosion. I was outside. He was inside. I went in and brought him out."

Jeremy took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face, reflecting on how much more difficult that must have been to do than to say. Slowly letting the breath out, he asked, "Where is Artemus now?"

Jim shrugged, "with the doctor still. They grabbed him out of the carriage and took him into a room. I was brought out here to breathe the fresh air." He shook his head slowly, still staring at the water. "A nurse keeps bringing me water and telling me they are still working on him."

"What doctor is this?" Jeremy turned to look at a window, trying to see into the building. "I have never been here before. I didn't see the front of the building to see the doctor's name."

Jim looked over at him, the blue eyes finally focusing on his friend. "What?" He asked slowly. "Isn't this Dr. Lake's office?" He looked behind him at the door, as it opened again. A pretty young nurse walked quickly out with a full pitcher in her hand.

"Here you are again," she said, setting it on the table. "You drink as much as you can, sir. It will do you good." She paused to look at Jim's worried face, reaching a slender hand to his wrist. "Your friend will be fine, I am sure, it won't be long now. And then we will get you cleaned up too." She nodded to Jeremy and turned to go but paused as Jim gently but firmly grasped her hand.

"Wait," he said, clearing his throat again. "Where am I? What hospital is this?"

"This isn't a hospital, sir," the young nurse said, "This is a clinic. But we give as good care as any hospital," she leaned closer, whispering, "better if you ask me. I don't think people get enough personal care at those big places. It's not private either, with sick people all laid out in the same room. I declare, I wouldn't stay at one of those crowded, dirty…Well, it's not my place to complain." She quickly straightened, taking her hand back and looking over her shoulder at the open doorway. Glancing back down at Jim, she smiled, "So I don't blame you for bringing your friend here but we were all so surprised to see you just the same." With a blur of white skirts, she was back through the doorway, shutting the door quietly behind her.

"Jer," Jim whispered, turning back to his friend, "I have no idea where I am. I thought we were at Lake's. I know that's what I asked Cobb to tell the cab driver."

Jeremey pointed back toward the main road. "Dr. Lake is further down the street. The driver of that cab must have stopped at the first place that looked like a hospital." He looked at the door the nurse had hurried back through. "The nurse was pleasant, talkative, cute as a button," he paused, winking at Jim, "Artie will love it here."

Jim closed his eyes, whispering, "I hope so, Jer." He drank more water, as another coughing fit hit him again. Choking, hunched over in pain, he spit the mouthful of water onto the deck. His fingers clenched on the glass as he held his breath, teeth gritted until the spasm calmed down. Taking a slow breath, he looked up to see Jeremy staring at him with worried eyes. "I'm fine, just a tickle in my..." He said, pointing to his throat and sipping again from the glass. "So why were you looking for us for this morning at the train anyway?"

Jeremy sat back in his chair and looked down at his hands. "Well, nothing really," he said without looking up. "I can talk to you about it another day."

"Jer, come on," Jim said, clutching at the water jug handle, trying to pick it up. "Talk, say something, take my mind off this waiting before I go crazy!" he managed to pick up the jug and splash water into his glass, and onto the table. He set it back down heavily and looked at his hand. Blood dripped from his fingers. "Damned glass is everywhere," he growled.

"What?" Jeremy said, looking up when the pitcher had banged onto the table. The handle was smeared red with blood. Grimacing, he leaned closer to look at his friend's bloody palms. "How did you get glass in you? I thought you were bleeding from burns on your skin?"

Jim leaned over and pulled at the shredded blue cloth on his pant legs. The knees were both ripped open and bloody skin showed through. Jim pulled at the cloth on his right leg, ripping the hole larger. "Burned, bleeding, glass…" he laughed darkly, "It's all from the same sad party." He looked up at Jeremy. "You saw the train. The explosion shattered all the windows, and the woodwork, and the furniture. It's just another day for me, Jer." He picked at his skin, managing to catch the edge of a jagged piece of glass. He gritted his teeth as he pulled the piece out of the open wound. He dropped it onto the table top, catching Jeremy's eye. "I had to crawl through the train to get to Artie, under the smoke, and then crawl out carrying him. I wasn't going to drag him through all that broken mess."

"Jesus," Jeremy whispered, watching Jim pull out more glass. "I didn't go inside the train. I didn't realize how bad it was." He looked away, as Jim continued to dig at the bleeding knee. "You should wait for the nurse."

"You should tell me what you wanted this morning," Jim said, dropping another piece of glass onto the growing pile. "I'm bored, I'm worried, and I am in a bad mood. Tell me something cheerful," he growled.

Jeremy took a deep breath. "I don't know, Jim. I just wanted to ask you and Artie for your opinion." He paused, looking down at his hands again. "But I just don't know if this is the right time to discuss this now." He looked up to see Jim glaring at him. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Colonel Richmond is assigning me a new partner."

"Good," Jim said, sitting up to look the older agent in the eye. "Good, you have been doing this alone for too long. I swear I don't know how." He dropped another sliver of bloody glass on the table. "So who is it? Have you met him?"

Jeremy shook his head, "No, no one has met him," pausing, lost in thought, "I just don't know. I liked working alone. I only worry about myself." He sighed. "It's a young fellow from New York City. He is supposed to be a college kid."

Jim snorted, "Sounds smart," he said, smiling now. "He can talk with Artie, trade books, give me a rest. You know Artie talked me into reading one of his chemistry books the other day? I tried but I kept falling asleep." He laughed, again nervously looking at the back door of the clinic. "God, I wish I knew how he was doing."

"He'll be alright, Jim", Jeremy said quietly. "I hope this new fellow is as great as you and Artie. You two are lucky, you know. My last partner and I were like brothers, like you two are. When I lost him," he stopped, looking away. "It doesn't get any easier, you know, with time. It's like it was yesterday."

"It wasn't your fault, Jeremy," Jim whispered, watching his friend. "It just happens. Like today on the train. We were just going to relax, write reports, and take care of the horses. But now here we are, him inside with a doctor, me out here picking glass out of my legs." He looked back at the door. "But I don't know if I could continue this work if I had to start over, like you're doing. And who could replace Artie?"

Jeremy nodded, "I know. Colonel Richmond gave me the ultimatum though. Start again or retire. He grinned, "Not that he said it like that, of course. He is smooth, that man, and patient. He said this fellow is from an important family and they wanted him to be with an experienced agent that would be cautious and teach him to be responsible." Jim laughed, nodding in agreement, imagining Richmond persuading him. "Well hopefully in a few weeks we can look back on this conversation and think what a couple of worried old maids we were."

"I hope so, Jer," Jim said, rubbing at his eyes, which were watering now in the sunshine. "I hope so." His head snapped back again at the clinic as the door opened and, this time, two nurses came out.

"The doctor can see you now," one said, smiling, as they stood obviously waiting for him at the open door.


	6. Chapter VI

IV Train Wreck

"I want to talk to his doctor," Jim said, his voice rising in frustration. He pulled his arm out of the nurse's grasp, half falling into Jeremy, who was holding him up by the other arm. "I want to know how badly injured he is and how long he will be here." The nurse reached out to his hands, smiling, as if calming a loud child but he pulled away again, knocking Jeremy into the doorjamb, "wherever this place is", he growled.

"Take it easy, Jim," Jeremy said, nodding toward the open doorway ahead of them. "You don't want to wake him, do you?"

Jim sighed, looking again into the small room at his partner. Artie lay on a bed on his right side, facing the doorway. A large, white bandage covered his forehead and left eye, wrapping around the back of his head. Dark curls of hair fell out over the top edge of the cloth. Jim grimaced as his eyes looked at the bandaged left hand and arm, resting on top of the blankets and his partner's hip. He knew there must be more bandages hidden under the bed covers. Another nurse, farther back in the shadows, appeared to be packing rolls of bandages into a large basket, neatening the room. Jim took a deep breath, "I am going to sit with him now," he whispered, glaring at the nurse, "Go find the doctor for me," adding a drawn out, "please," through gritted teeth.

"You are not going into that room," a stern voice said quietly behind them. Jim turned to see another woman, slightly older, standing with arms crossed over her chest, glaring at him. "I haven't spent all this time cleaning him up and wrapping his wounds for you to go in there and drip your filth on him. Now you may come into this room so your injuries can be taken care of," she said, stepping aside and waving a hand toward the open doorway.

Jim straightened, glaring back and speaking through clenched teeth, "After seeing the doctor myself, I am going to see my friend." He took a step forward, hauling Jeremy behind him now.

"Well you're looking at the doctor now," the woman said, as he approached her. "I am Doctor Mary Harrison," she added, stepping aside further to allow him room to enter with Jeremy's aid.

Jim paused as he walked past her, his eyes meeting hers, but kept silent as he entered the room. It was larger than the room his partner was in, he noticed, his eyes taking in the glass fronted cabinets holding various instruments and equipment. He walked slowly to a high table, covered with a clean white cloth, obviously the exam table.

Doctor Harrison followed them inside and turned to the nurse still hovering in the doorway. "Leave both of the doors open, Margaret, so he can see his friend from in here." The nurse opened opposing doors wide and scurried out of sight up the hallway.

"Isn't this unexpected," Jeremy said, smiling, trying to break the chill that suddenly had fallen in the exam room, "a woman doctor! What will they think of next?" He looked at Jim, feeling the tenseness in his friend's arm as he steadied him.

Jim pulled away from him and steadied himself against the exam table. Without taking his eyes from the doctor, who was still standing in the doorway with arms crossed, matching his stare, he whispered, "Jer, would you go see Colonel Richmond and let him know what happened. I doubt he has any idea. I will catch up with you later."

Jeremy nodded, with a "sure, Jim," as he moved to the door. Stopping at the doctor's side, he gave her his brightest smile, "I would like to thank you, ma'am, for helping our friend. He is a very important fellow in our small circle."

"Of course," she said, turning to him. "We help everyone here. And please feel free to visit him later, you may even use the front door, if you would like." She turned back to Jim, her features softening now. "I see my new patient has some very loyal friends." Jeremy nodded and moved to the hallway, turning toward the back door which led to the outside porch.

Jim let out a long breath, as the doctor approached. "My apologies for sounding rude earlier," he said, "it has been a long, frustrating day."

"Of course," she said, stepping closer to him now. "I am sorry for the surprise, but I thought you knew who's clinic you were in. My name is on the door." She tapped a hand onto the exam table. "If you can climb up here I will take a look at you while we introduce ourselves." Jim slowly lifted a boot onto a step and boosted himself onto the table, surprised to feel a thick soft pad under the sheet cover. Sitting, facing her, he held out his bleeding hands.

"My name is Mary Harrison, but you can just call me Mary," she said, her voice sounding like she was lost in thought now, her gentle fingers poking into his cuts. "I have been a doctor in Massachusetts for five years. I recently moved to Washington to open this clinic." Her eyes, a soft dark brown, looked up at Jim in amusement, "my women's clinic, two years ago." She turned from his hands to pick up a glass jar.

"So I shouldn't be here?" Jim asked slowly. "I instructed the cab driver to take us to Dr. Lake's office. I am not sure what happened. I think I was too busy coughing to notice where we ended up."

"Ah, Dr. Lake," Mary said. "I have not met him yet. I haven't met many other doctors in the city." She walked back to him, now looking down at his knees. "I opened a women's clinic only because the licensing board in the city told me no one but women would have me as their physician. I swear I didn't have any problems in New England but the people here have not been welcoming." Jim started to speak, but she continued, "However, you and anyone else are welcome here. If you would prefer, though, to go up to Dr. Lake's office, I will understand."

"And my partner?" Jim asked, nodding to the room across the hall.

"Oh, he stays here," she said, firmly. "He isn't to move or be disturbed in any way." Her dark eyes flashed angrily at him, "I will even have you removed if you don't do as I say."

Jim relaxed, chuckling softly now. "No, no," he said, holding his bleeding hands up at her, "you got him and me too. I stay where he is and I am more than happy to have you as a doctor." He winked at her, "I never did like that Dr, Lake anyway. He always yelled at me whenever I got hurt, like it was my fault. And the hospital he runs is dark and depressing. This place," he said, nodding to the hallway, "seems very clean and bright and the nurses," he said, leaning to the side to watch the nurse still moving around Artie's room, "seem competent."

"Well since we've meet with your approval," she said, smiling again, "Let's get you cleaned up and then you can sit quietly with your friend." She opened the jar in her hands and picked up a small metal knife.

"What is that?" Jim asked, curiously, looking at the jar of goop she was stirring now with the dull blade.

"This," she said, drawing some out with the knife, "is a medicinal salve. I used it on your friend's burns and will use it on your injuries." She plopped some down on his palm of his right hand. Smearing it, she continued, "It will fight infection, soften the skin, and numb the pain a bit." She stopped as he snorted, "or would you like me to pull the glass out of your skin while you bite down on an old shoe from the pain."

"It doesn't hurt that bad," Jim said, "I pulled some of the glass out of my knees while I waited on your porch." He winked at her, as she glanced back at him. "I imagine I am tougher than your usual patients."

"So you're telling me I have a pile of bloody bits of glass out there?" She dropped more onto his other palm and spread it over those cuts. "If you would rather feel pain, I won't bother putting this on your knees. But it's a new salve and I think you will like it." She straightened again and put the cover back on the jar. Setting it down, she picked up a piece of paper and a pencil. "While we wait for it to work, tell me about your friend; his general health, past injuries. If you could start with his name, though, I need to start a file. I will need to start one for both of you."

Jim smiled, knowing it was coming, "Artemus Gordon," he said, slowly pronouncing each word slowly. "Would you like me to spell it?"

"I think I have it," she chuckled, as the pencil scratched, "But that is a mouthful. Does the name fit him?"

"Oh, yes, very much," Jim laughed. "And he is usually very healthy, occasionally has a cold, had pneumonia once years ago," he said, pausing to think, "at least he said he did. Well, anyway," he paused, watching her pencil scratch over the page. When the writing stopped he continued, "He has been shot a few times in the last few years, possibly more in the war, but he always seems to heal fine," he paused again. "He is very smart, plays the violin," he added as an afterthought. "I hope his hand heals. Those burns looked terrible and his head was bleeding. I think he hit his forehead and the back of his head." He leaned over to look at Artie again.

"Yes, I noticed when I was bandaging him," Mary said, realizing how deeply worried he was. "It's hard to see a friend injured but he will be fine," she said softly. "Now fill me in on what happened. There was a fire and you obviously crawled inside to get him out. I should listen to your lungs." She put the paper down and picked up a stethoscope. Placing it against his chest, she listened for a minute, moving the end over his skin. "Take deep breaths," she added, noticing he was holding his breath. "I need to listen to your lungs working." Jim took a deep breath and twisted away, coughing hard, his eyes squeezed shut but still watering. "Well, that does sound like smoke inhalation."

"Ya," Jim gasped, as the spasm calmed, "there was a lot of smoke." He steadied himself and sat back upright, "Try again?"

She wrapped the stethoscope around her neck and reached out to unbutton his shirt. "Let's remove this shirt, or what remains of it, so I can listen from the back side." She moved her hands slowly, pulling the bloody shirt off his shoulders and arms. Jim winced as the cloth stuck to his hands briefly, snagging bits of glass sticking out of his palms. The doctor stepped behind him and paused, looking at old scars on his back. "You are a rough and tumble fellow, aren't you?" She moved the stethoscope over his skin again as he breathed. Moving back to the front side of the exam table, she said, "Your lungs seem fine. I think it's just your throat that's sore." Jim nodded, relaxing more as she spoke. "But you have had a lot of injuries in the past," she said, raising an eyebrow at him, "Any lingering pain?"

"No," Jim said, "I heal pretty fast. Luckily." He held his hands out again as she started to remove the glass. Amazed at the reduction in pain, he said quietly, "that is a good salve. I think I will remember to request that, especially with Dr. Lake, who probably has had me chewing on old shoe leather in the past. " He leaned closer, watching her delicate fingers pull a piece of glass out of his right palm. "I cannot feel that. Why don't other doctors use this?"

"Because men are supposed to be tough," she chuckled, "And bite on a bullet. Luckily for you, you are at a women's clinic where my patients enjoy pain reduction methods." She smiled as he laughed quietly. "I imagine with your job, you get injured a lot, though maybe not your partner."

"You have no idea," Jim sighed, his eyes closing now, feeling the tenseness leaving him.

"I would guess some sort of Federal police officer," she said, pulling smaller bits of glass out now with tweezers.

Jim's eyes snapped open and he sat up straighter, mouth open in surprise. The doctor paused in her work to wink up at him. Jim whispered, "Not that I am saying your correct but would you mind telling me how you guessed that particular occupation?"

Mary straightened and took a step back, making an obvious glance up and down his body. "Well you are no banker," she chuckled, "and your friend may be your partner, but he isn't your business partner. And you asked your other friend to speak to a Colonel." She paused, amused at his changing facial expressions as she spoke. "You are not wearing a uniform, though I imagine you did in the past, so I guessed police. And since we are in Washington D.C., where everyone is a Federal worker of some kind, I guessed Federal police officer." She laughed quietly, picking up his hands again. "You don't have to tell me if I guessed correctly but I do I hope you don't have to kill me now."

Jim laughed again, shaking his head, "I don't think I have to tell you anything. You have impressive powers of observation." He leaned over to look again at Artie, "and I won't kill you since you are taking care of him."

Mary stepped back to drop the tweezers on the shelf nearby and picked up a roll of bandages. She watched Jim carefully, noticing how his gaze never left his friend. "It's hard to see a friend injured. He must be very important to you."

"He's my partner," Jim said, looking down at his hands, watching her wrap the clean, white bandages over his fingers. His voice was barely a whisper now, "I have a lot of friends. I only have one partner." He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, coughing slightly. Mary reached a hand out to him.

"You're partner will make a full recovery," she said softly, squeezing his wrists. "I promise.


	7. Chapter VII

Train Wreck 7

Jim leaned closer to his partner, "Artie? Can you hear me?" The dark eye stared unblinking at him. Jim squeezed his friend's fingers with one hand and rubbed his arm slowly with his other, "Buddy?" 

"Shush," Mary whispered from the doorway. "Don't try to wake him. He needs to rest." She paused as Jim looked up, silently mouthing something to her. With a sigh, she stepped into the room. 

Jim nodded toward Artemus, "he keeps looking at me as if he is awake," he whispered, "But he doesn't blink or move or try to say anything." Mary walked closer to look. She very slowly touched her stethoscope end to her patient's chest. Listening, she moved it slowly around his skin. Jim watched her, trying to detect any hint of news from her facial expression. 

"He is sound asleep," Mary said, straightening. She tucked the stethoscope into a pocket of her apron and leaned over to squeeze Jim's shoulder. "Give it time, he has more of a head wound than the burns. " She walked to the doorway and paused again, looking back at Jim, remembering the problem of his appearance. "I will try to have some clean clothes brought to you. I will be busy for a while now. I am about to deliver a baby so don't get upset if you hear a lot of shouting and loud noises. My patient can be rather dramatic." She smiled and shut the door behind her. 

Jim turned to look back at Artie, who now appeared asleep again. Leaning closer, he muttered, "This is a crazy place, partner. You're missing all the excitement." He absently rubbed his friend's arm, lost in thought. "And you need to wake up and help me with Colonel Richmond. I just don't know what I'm going to tell him about the train. You are a lot better with words than I am." He sat back in the hard wooden chair and rubbed his face, the day's long afternoon stretching on as he watched Artie sleep. 

Suddenly a scream ripped through the building sending Jim to his feet. He lurched from his chair and ran, half falling on his injured legs, managing to reach the wall. Another scream pierced the room, louder now as slide closer to the door. He pulled the door open and started to step into the hall but jumped back, almost falling into a nurse that was hurrying into his doorway. 

"Oh," she squeaked, jumping back too. Then she dissolved into giggles, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes watched him. "I brought you some clean clothing." She pushed the armful of clothes into his chest as she added, "Haven't you ever heard a woman having a baby before?" Another shriek made him jump again, just as he gathered the clothes in his arms. The nurse laughed, "Oh, don't be so startled. This could go on for hours." Jim sighed and turned back into the room. 

"I didn't realize it was so," he paused; "well…" he tried to walk with the armful of clothing, reaching out to the bed rail to steady himself. 

The nurse stepped quickly to him, supporting an arm as he tried to limp on both legs. "Not all women are as loud since, of course, everyone is made different. And some babies are much larger than others." 

Jim realized, as she droned on, that she was the nurse that had visited him earlier in the day when he had waited outside for news of his partner. Remembering, he said, "You're Margaret, right?" The nurse's face light up with pure joy as he said her name. "You were the nurse who brought me water earlier." 

"Yes, and I should continue," she said, helping him sit. "Let me get you that jug and a fresh glass." She shushed him as he started to protest. Looking down at him, from much closer than before, she giggled again. His shirt was in taters, only a few buttons in the middle were keeping it closed over his chest. His pant legs were ripped from thigh to the top of his boots, revealing bandaged, yet well-muscled legs. Quickly stepping back, "Oh, my, you did need fresh clothing. I hope those fit." She suddenly spun from the room, still muttering about men's clothing. 

Jim dropped the clothes onto the floor and settled back into the chair, trying to get comfortable on the hard wooden seat. "Artie, I tell you, this place is getting old." He leaned back, closing his eyes, feeling more irritated than tired. 

A very weak voice whispered, "Jim, where am I?" 

Jim jolted from his chair to kneel at the edge of the bed. "Artie?" He scooped up his partner's good hand with both of his, rubbing the fingers. "Buddy, can you hear me?" Slowly the dark eye opened and looked at him. "You're all right now, Artie," Jim said, smiling, his eyes suddenly tearing. "Everything is going to be alright." 

"Where am I?" Artie whispered, his eye shutting and reopening, as if looking and speaking took too much effort to do at the same time. "What happened?" 

Jim leaned back, hoping Artie could see past him. "You are in a," he paused, thinking, "well, it's a small clinic." The dark eye blinked and stared. "You'll like it. They seem to be very nice here." 

"Why am I in a hospital?" Artie whispered. His fingers gripped Jim's tighter now. "What happened to me?" 

Jim sighed, knowing his partner would see though any story he could think up. "Ok, Artie, you are in a hospital. But it's a small privately run clinic. It's not old Lake's, this is a nice place. You have a quiet room all to yourself," just as the mother-to-be shrieked down the hall. Artie's eye widened and he looked toward the door. "Except for that lady who is having a baby, it's very quiet." He paused again, rubbing his friend's hand, feeling his grip gaining strength already. "Now, as to what happened, I was hoping you could tell me." 

"Why?" Artie asked. He shifted his feet and rolled his shoulder. "I feel stiff. Sore." The slow movement stopped with a sharp gasp, as the pain reached his foggy brain. Artie clamped his teeth shut and perspiration suddenly appeared on his skin below the bandages. 

"Don't move so much," Jim said, wiping a corner of the bed sheet onto his partner's forehead. He reached out, hovering a hand over Artie's injured arm. "And don't move your left arm or try to roll over." The dark eye stared at him, worried now. "You have some burns," Jim said quietly, putting his hand back to Artie's un-bandaged arm. "And you hit your head, so you probably have a good headache." He waited as Artie tried to look at himself without moving. "The doctor will be here when she is done," the woman's voice shrieked again, "delivering the baby." He winked at his partner, "you will like her, I promise. Just try to cooperate for a change." 

"I always cooperate," Artie muttered, his eye closing. Jim grunted, remembering many times when his partner was invited to leave Dr Lake's facility earlier than medically ready. 

The dark eye opened slowly again, "her?" he said, looking at Jim. 

Jim squeezed his hand, "Just sleep for now, partner. We have a lot to catch up on when you feel better." Artie stared at him for a minute and then his eye slowly closed. His hand relaxed and his breathing deepened into a snore. Jim watched him for a while, still holding his fingers, and then slowly released the hand, watching to see if his partner woke up. At no sign of movement, he slid back onto the chair. With a moan, he propped his feet up onto the edge of the bed and leaned back, suddenly unable to keep his own eyes open.


	8. Chapter VIII

Train Wreck 8

"Artie, for God's sake, it's just water," Jim said, trying to sound stern as he handed a glass to Artie. "You were coughing and I got you a glass of water." His friend silently glared at him with one eye. "Fine," he snapped, taking a sip. He looked back to see Artie chuckling, "happy now? Do you believe me? Just water, no drugs." He leaned closer, holding the glass to his friend's lips helping him sip. "I hope you choke on it," Jim whispered, grinning.

Artie snorted while drinking, coughing a bit. "I just don't want that laudanum again."

"Ya, ya," Jim said, setting the empty glass down on a side table. He pulled the chair closer and sat back down. He sighed, looking at Artie. "You sure needed it last night. And you may want to take more today. She wants to change those bandages again and this may be really painful now that you're awake." Artie shook his head no, waving his good hand. "Your arm and hand were really," Jim paused, thinking of the terrible weeping blisters, "Well, when she changed the bandages last evening, it was a good thing you were asleep."

"I saw too many men in the war go crazy for laudanum," Artie said quietly, nodding to Jim. "I am sure you did too." Jim nodded, in obvious agreement. "You don't want a partner using opium."

Jim shook his head, still worried, "There should be another way. Maybe someone could hypnotize you?" Artie laughed. "No, really, it could work. People don't know what they are doing when hypnotized, maybe they don't feel pain." Artie laughed again and Jim gave up, sitting back on the chair. "You're impossible," he said, grinning now too, just relieved at how much better his partner was this morning.

Artie pushed at the bed with his right arm, trying to get comfortable. "Why don't you tell me how you are? You look terrible," he said, pointing at Jim's shredded clothing. "And you have as many bandages as I have."

Jim looked down at his bandaged hands and legs. "It's just some cuts. I had to carry you out of the train and I crawled through broken glass. I swear it got in me everywhere." He picked up the clean shirt the nurse had given him. "I was going to change into the clothes they gave me but I can't figure them out." He pulled off his old, tattered shirt and pulled on the crisp new one. Artie watched him, grinning at his partner's obvious confusion. "The buttons are on the wrong side. See?" Jim held the shirt front out. "I can't even fix them into the button holes." He looked up as his partner burst out laughing. "Ok, what?" He snapped.

"It's a women's shirt," Artie managed to say between gasps. "Buttons are on the opposite side." He pointed at the brown pants on the floor. "Did you try those on?"

Jim stood again, removing the shirt, grumbling. "Those are the smallest pants I have ever seen. I thought maybe they were for a kid." He held them up in front of his legs, showing Artie how small they were. "But I suppose these are women's pants? I didn't know they made them for women." He folded the pants up and dropped them on the floor next to the shirt. "Margaret did that on purpose," he grumbled.

"Who is Margret?" Artie asked, "The doctor?"

"No, she is a crazy nurse," Jim said, sitting again. "You will meet everyone today. I can hear them down the hall, gathering," he said, watching the door behind him. "I don't like my back to this door. They keep popping in behind me." He looked back at Artie, "Do you remember Colonel Richmond being here last night? He stopped on his way home."

Artie shook his head no as Jim continued. "He didn't say much, as usual. Said he would be back today." Jim took a deep breath, looking at Artie, "I don't know what to tell him about the train, partner. That bill was bad enough before this."

"You have me at a disadvantage, Jim," Artie said, "I don't really remember a lot. How bad is the train damaged?"

Jim stared at him for a heartbeat, "do you remember talking to me about the repairs Cobb wants to do? We were sitting in the living room, at the table?" Artie slowly nodded. "And do you remember me going out to catch your horse?"

"I remember you calling her my stupid brown horse," Artie chuckled, "and stomping outside. You were going to talk to Cobb again. You took the list of repairs with you." He paused, obviously thinking, "I was doing something, writing a report but something else too. It seems like there was another list of numbers, public trains, and hotel room costs."

Jim leaned closer, "but don't you remember after that?" Jim whispered, watching his friend's face intently. "That's when it happened. Or pretty soon after I went outside, maybe half an hour at the most."

"That's when what happened?" Artie asked. "That's the point; I don't seem to remember after that." He sighed and lay back on the pillows. "Maybe I do need to be hypnotized."

"So much deep thinking going on in here," a soft voice said from the door. Jim turned in the chair to see the doctor standing in the doorway, her uniform of white dress and apron clean and crisp in the morning light. Artie watched her as she approached the bed. "And good morning to you," she said, smiling at him. "I am Dr. Mary Harrison. You can just call me Mary though. You must be Artemus. It's good to see you so awake."

Artie smiled with his one good eye, "Good morning," he said back, grinning. "I have heard a lot about you. I like you better than Dr. Lake already."

Mary straightened, "you may not after I am finished changing these bandages though. I think you will be with me for a few days but everything should heal completely." She turned to Jim, "and you have visitors again. Your Colonel Richmond and the other fellow are waiting outside."

Jim turned back to Artie, "well, partner, I think I am being asked to leave." He smacked Artie's lower leg lightly as he slowly climbed to his feet. "I will be down the hall. Try to cooperate," he said, winking as he stood up. Mary stared at his clothing.

"Didn't Margret bring you some clean clothes?" Artie chuckled as Jim leaned down to scoop up the shirt and pants, "Oh, dear," Mary said, smiling as she took them back. "I did hear her muttering about men's clothing. She must have thought these were close enough."

"I can have clothes brought here," Jim added, "if they aren't too ruined by the fire." He turned back to his partner, "The fire you can't remember," he said, pointing. Artie grunted, though his eyes were worried.

"You may remember eventually," Mary added, "don't worry. We will get you healed up first. Then you can run around and solve all the mysteries." Margret popped in the room with a basket of bandages. Mary nodded and pointed her to the side table. Looking back at Artie, she added, "So what about some pain relief?"

"No laudanum," Artie growled, the smile disappearing. Mary turned a worried look to Jim who only shrugged back at her.

Mary pulled out a jar from her apron pocket. "Well Mr. Artemus Gordon," she said, carefully pronouncing his name, "this is the game this morning. I have a jar that contains a salve that I am going to rub onto your burns. The salve itself will numb the skin," she paused as he started to protest, "It isn't made with laudanum. I used it on your friend and he is just fine." Jim chuckled, holding his bandaged hands out to show his friend. "But smearing this onto your burned will hurt and a little diluted laudanum," she paused again as Artie slowly shook his head.

"You might as well give up," Jim said, "he would barely take a glass of water from me this morning; you'll never get laudanum into him."

"Oh, this is silly," Mary snapped, clearly irritated, "I give this to women for child birth and other surgeries. If it's diluted out, people do not become addicted."

Artie smiled up at her, "I like to think I am tougher than a woman having a baby," he said slowly.

Jim grimaced, looking at Mary, "That was awful yesterday," he groaned. "That poor woman screamed all day. Did she live through that?" He turned to his partner, "I don't think you should compare yourself to women giving birth." He grimaced again, remembering. Artie stared up at him, obviously mystified.

Mary laughed, "She's fine, and so is her new son, but it was a tough day for everyone." Mary turned back to Artie and shrugged, imitating Jim, "Have it your way for now. You can always change your mind later." She winked at Margaret, "and I won't even begin to debate about comparing anything to childbirth." Margaret nodded profusely, giggling as she looked from Jim to Artie.

"Let me help you to your friends, sir," Margaret said, walking around the bed to take Jim's elbow.

Jim paused to look down at Artie, "Cooperate," he said, laughing as his partner glared back at him. He turned and let the nurse steer him to the hallway.

"And I will get you some fresh water to drink. You cannot have too much to drink, you know, especially after breathing in that smoke," she said. Jim walked slowly with her wishing he had a stiff drink for breakfast.


	9. Chapter IX

Part IX

"Jim," Richmond said quietly, folding his arms on the wooden table, "I don't want to come down on you too hard this morning, especially with Artemus injured." The Colonel paused, obviously thinking carefully about his words. His eyes squinted into the sun as it rose between the tall buildings of the city streets. Noise of morning routines drifted in from the distance reminding the Colonel of his responsibilities waiting for him in his office.

Jim, sitting across the table from his superior, felt his body stiffen as he sensed the bad news coming. He tried not to react, concentrating on staring straight ahead. He felt, more than saw, Jeremy walk quietly across the outside deck to the railings, moving farther away. Jim wondered if he was trying to give him and Colonel Richmond privacy or was slinking off to his horse.

Richmond smiled to lighten the mood after noticing Jim's stiffness. "I know we all joke about how the train is yours, and we did put your name on the title to make it appear that way for your undercover persona," he paused again, his eyebrows lowering as he stared at his best agent. "However," he said, his voice becoming sterner, "that train is property of the United States Government. And as such, it is the responsibility of my office to ensure it works properly at all time so that you can be sent out at a moment's notice. Any maintenance work needed is approved through my office. I depend on you and Artemus to see to it that work is done as needed and any bills for payment are submitted to the financial office at Headquarters."

Jim looked away briefly, again wishing Artemus was here to help explain the situation. When he looked back at Richmond, the stern look had again been replaced by the perpetual tired but patient look of his friend and superior. He took a deep breath, "sir, it isn't just the fire." He nodded at the back door of the hospital, "it's what Artie and I were discussing yesterday morning."

Richmond prompted, "What were you two doing anyway, that caused the fire?"

"Artie can't remember yet," Jim said, adding a quick, "but I am sure he will soon. However, that's not what I meant." Jim paused again and then blurted out, "Cobb, our engineer, gave me a list of maintenance work needed on the engine and boiler but it's a lot of money. That's what I was talking to Cobb about, outside, when the explosion occurred inside, where Artie was." Richmond held up a hand to stop the flood of words.

"Hold on, Jim," the older man said, trying to calm his agent. "Your engineer says work needs to be done on the engine? And this was before the explosion?" Jim nodded, and he continued, stroking his chin as he thought out loud, "so this part would be maintenance? Fire on one end and the engine on the other?" Again Jim nodded, his eyes dropping to the table. "And where is this list of work now?"

Jim rubbed his eyes with both hands, "I have no idea, sir. But I am sure he can write up a new one, even longer than before, in fact, with one big number at the bottom."

Richmond smiled and reached out a hand to squeeze Jim's wrist. "Jim, as I told you, the President himself wants this train running and wants you and Artemus on it. So let me take care of the money end."

Jim looked up, surprise clear in his face. "So money is no object?"

Richmond laughed, standing now, "well let's try not to break the entire Federal budget. I have an hour before my first meeting. Do you feel up to riding out to the train? I haven't seen it yet." He stood back as Jim slowly rose to his feet. "Can we sneak you out of here?"

Jim smiled as he leaned against the table. "I will let them know that I will be back later. I imagine the doctor is still busy with Artie." He took a few steps toward the door, obviously unable to bend his knees. He turned to look at Jeremy, still standing at the railing. "Hey, Jer, think you could grab a carriage? One with soft seats." Jeremy chuckled and walked down the back steps to the street.

"Artemus will have to forgive me for stealing you away for a bit," Richmond said. "I hope you told him I stopped last evening. I didn't want him to think I am ignoring his plight."

"Oh, yes, sir," Jim sighed, "I told him this morning before the doctor came in. He seemed wide awake but pretty sore. I hope those burns heal up quickly." As he spoke, the doctor came out the back door. Jim, forgetting his knees, stepped quickly toward her. "How is he?"

Mary smiled, approaching him with faster steps, reaching out her hands to steady him. "He's fine, Jim. Everything looked good this morning." She turned to Richmond, nodding a greeting, "Colonel, thank you for coming again. And again, Artemus won't be able to speak to you."

"Why? He was talking this morning," Jim said, obviously alarmed. "What happened? He was wide awake just a few minutes ago."

Mary patted a hand on his arms. "He is resting now, Jim. He's a tough fellow though, I will admit that. Changing bandages on burns is very painful but he withstood it. Now he is sleeping and I need to change your bandages."

Jim sighed with relief while shaking his head. "I am running an errand but will be back soon. We can do them later." He grinned at her protests. "I may even get a few new injuries for you to treat." He winked at her as he heard Colonel Richmond groan behind him. The doctor was not reassured by his smile.

Burnt bits of wood crunched under Jim's boots as he walked over the remains of the living room carpeting. Jim paused to clear his throat as the smell of smoke choked him. Only the breeze blowing through the gaping open walls on either side of the living room made being inside possible. Jim raised his head to look up at the ceiling. More black bits of ruined ceiling pieces hung down from the open wood framing of the roof.

"This is bad, Jim," Jeremy said quietly behind him.

"Well, Jer," Jim said slowly, "it could be worse. The ceiling is still there," he stopped as a chunk of burnt something fell to the floor in front of him. "At least the exterior structure is there, this is just the coverings, really."

Jeremy leaned over to stand a dining room chair upright. It tipped back to the floor with a thud as one leg collapsed. Jeremy kicked it out of his way as he walked to Jim. Reaching out a hand, he grabbed his friend's elbow to steady him. "You shouldn't walk too far in here. You don't want to fall and injure yourself even more."

Colonel Richmond stood near the doorway to the back of the varnish car, his eyes quietly moving around the room. Finally, he nodded, "Jim, the important thing is you got your partner out of this firestorm. Everything else can be fixed."

Jim turned slowly, favoring his right knee. "But this will be a lot of money. Do you think you will have any trouble with that financial office? I know that guy at the desk hates to see me come in." He grimaced, remembering his last visit regarding payment for a new door; a small expenditure. Since then he and Artie had paid for everything else.

Colonel Richmond smiled quietly, his calm demeanor reassuring his agent. "It's my job, Jim. I couldn't do what you do," he sighed, waving a hand across the living room. "I am thankful that you can. I am only good at paperwork and numbers."

Jim chuckled, nodding agreement. "That's what I need, someone to do paperwork for me. I give too much of that to Artie, poor guy. He doesn't seem to mind though." He looked around the floor at the many bits of burnt paper scattered everywhere and thought of the long report his partner had been working on.

"Yes, but then I have to read his reports." Colonel said, shaking his head. "Those long winded stories full of words I don't know. I had to buy a new dictionary just to decipher those reports." He walked into the room further, careful to not touch his long blue jacket against anything burnt. "Do you know how far down this car the flames reached? The smoke must have been through the entire car. Luckily no one was asleep; the smoke would have been deadly."

Jim sighed, looking at the hallway toward the front of the car. "Luckily," he agreed. "That's where I entered the living room. See all the glass on the floor?" Jeremy helped him walk across the room. Jim pointed to the back wall, leaning on the edge of the table. "This was tipped on its side, right here," he said, tapping his hand on the table, "Artie was on the floor against the far wall." Jeremy and Richmond both paused to look from the wall to the ceiling and around the room, clearly trying to picture what Jim and Artie had both gone through in the inferno. "I hid behind the table when the ceiling came down." Jim's voice lowered, thinking back to the intense heat. He stepped forward again and the toe of his boot stuck something metal. He looked down to see a pair of scissors on the carpet.

Jeremy leaned over and picked them up. "Scissors," he said, rubbing the black dust onto his pants, cleaning the scissors but leaving a dark smear on his pant leg.

"Now why are those on the floor?" Jim muttered, his eyes narrow in thought. "He didn't have those on the table when I was with him. He was writing, not cutting."

"Maybe he decided to cut up his report and make is shorter, for a change," Richmond said, chuckling at his own joke. "I have to get back to my office. Ask Cobb to write up one estimate for all the work. There is no need to separate fire damage from maintenance work. It all comes out of the same pot. I will have workers sent over immediately to start the work." Jim nodded, clearly relieved that the money would not be a problem. "I am just glad no living creature was lost in this…"

"Oh, no!" Jim broke from Jeremy's grasp and staggered through the doorway, almost throwing his body down the hall. Jeremy and Richmond paused in shock at his outburst but quickly followed. Jim darted into the lab, his sore knees apparently forgotten. He turned to look up at the cupboards with the wire mesh doors. "Henrietta?" He called, his voice oddly up an octave higher than normal. "Arabella?" He reached up to tap at the doors. Coos of doves answered him, bits of straw falling softly onto his hair. "Oh, thank God," he gasped, his arms dropping to his hips. "Thank God." He looked up to see Jeremy and Richmond staring at him from the doorway to the lab.

"What?" Jeremy said, Richmond continuing his silent stare.

"The pigeons," Jim said, pointing up at the cupboards, "I can't believe the smoke didn't kill them. It smells terrible in here. The heat must have been intense." He turned and staggered to a low shelf and pulled out a long wooden box. He set it on the lab bench and opened a door in the side of it. Turning again, he reached up to open one of the doors. "Henrietta, are you ok, girl? Come here, sweetheart". He cooed back to the bird as he reached in. Pulling the bird down, and a handful of stray, he hugged her to his chest.

Jeremy turned back to wink at Richmond. "Glad they are ok, Jim," he said.

Jim stroked the head of the bird, talking quietly to it. "Poor girl, you were brave. But I will take you with me now. You don't want to be here with noisy carpenters." The bird cooed back, ribbing its face against his hand. "Ok, in you go," he said as he placed her in the box. Then, reaching up for the other bird, he said, "Arabella doesn't like me as much, she isn't as friendly, but she does a good job."

Richmond cleared his throat, "what are these birds for, Jim? I didn't know you had them."

"They are carrier pigeons," Jim said, lowering the other dove to his chest. The bird pecked at his hand, obviously more agitated. "You are ok, sweetie." He looked up to his friends, "We hook messages to their feet and they carry them back to the train."

"But, Jim," Richmond said, stealing a glance at Jeremy, "that would only work if the train never moved, like a building. A bird can't find the train if it moves from place to place."

"Well these can," Jim said, putting the second bird into the box, and closing the door. "We trained them. They're very handy."

"But," Richmond said, clearly confused, "if the train moves, how do they know where it is?"

Jim shrugged, "because they are smart and know where the train is. They ride in it, like we do, so they just fly back. Migratory birds do it." He picked up the box and walked to the hallway. "We had a boy named Henry for a while but he didn't come back one day so he either got lost or a hawk found him. Then we got Arabella. But we have had Henrietta for a couple years now." Jim set the box on the floor in the hall and walked into his room.

Richmond turned to look back at Jeremy. The older agent simply smiled. "Sure, Jim," Colonel said. "I need to get going. Let me know if you have any trouble with the financial office. I will let them know you are coming."

Jim called out from his room, where he stood pulling off his shredded clothing, "I thought I was bringing you the estimate, to your office," he said, worried again.

"Financial office will be fine", Colonel said over his shoulder as he disappeared out the door.

"Shit," Jim said, throwing his shirt onto the floor. "Dammit, Jeremy, I didn't think I would have to go there. " He sighed, lost in thought for a minute, then began pulling clean clothes from a small chest of drawers. "Well I guess that is the least of my worries. I need to get back to Artie and talk to him about the scissors."

Jeremy's eyebrows climbed to his hairline. "The scissors?" he asked.

Jim slowly pulled on clean pants over his bandaged knees. Then he pulled a white shirt on over his shoulders but struggled with the buttons because of the bandages on his hands, only managing to close two over his stomach. He stomped back into his boots and grabbed a coat. Pausing by the other agent as he passed him in the hall, "The scissors on the floor may explain this entire mystery, Jer. I am hoping it will wake up Artie's memory when I mention them." He grabbed the box of birds and walked toward the front of the car. "I wonder where my horse is."


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10. Train Wreck

Jim paused in the hallway, the wooden box held behind his knees, and listened at the closed door. He heard the usual snoring from his partner but no voices of the nurses. He stole another quick glance up toward the front of the clinic and saw a nurse move from one room to another, but she didn't look in his direction. Slowly turning the handle, he pushed the door open just enough to slide in and then silently closed it behind him. With a sigh of relief, he leaned back against the door, eyes closed for a few minutes. His knees throbbed from walking and climbing stairs and his throat burned again from the smoke of the scorched train. He walked slowly to the chair beside the bed and sat heavily, setting the box on the floor at his feet.

He looked his partner over, his eyes noticing the clean bandages. He stared at Artie's fingers on his injured left hand, leaning close to see if the cloth had been arranged differently on his fingertips. He suddenly realized the snoring had stopped. He leaned over further to peer at the one dark eye that was now open and staring back at him from under the edge of the white head wrappings.

"Artemus?" He reached a hand out to his friend's right arm, the only unbandaged area showing outside of the bed sheets. "Are you awake?" A humph was all he heard. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I was trying to sneak in and grab a nap myself." He squeezed Artie's wrist, "Hey, are you waking up or going back to sleep?"

The eye closed as Artie whispered, "Where did you go?" The eye opened again and stared, sleepily, at his friend.

Jim sat back and stretched. Yawning, he said, "I went to the train with Colonel Richmond and Jeremy. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. And Colonel says he will make sure there is money for the repairs."

"All repairs?" Artie stared hard at Jim, worry clear on his bandaged face.

Jim leaned closer again, speaking softly, "Ya, that's what he said. I told him about the boiler needing new seals and other repairs Cobb mentioned and he said to bring him the bill." He grunted, "Well, bring it to the financial office anyway." He shook his head slowly back and forth as he rubbed a hand over his forehead. The bandage on his palm had come loose and he stopped to poke the cloth back together.

Artie relaxed, smiling now, the one eye twinkling with amusement at his partner's obvious distress. "Oh, Charles will be so happy to see you."

Jim sat back again and sighed, "Ya, Charles and I will have a long, tortured conversation over a stack of financial forms. " He reached down to the box. "But," he said, his voice brightening, "You let me worry about the train. You should be worrying about you." He put the box on his knees. "And I brought you some friends to cheer you up."

Artie pushed himself up straighter with his right arm, his face twisting in effort. He watched as Jim opened the box and pulled out a white pigeon. The bird burst from his hand and fluttered around the room, banging into the wall above Artie's head. It flopped onto the bed at Artie's feet. "Always in a panic, aren't you, Arabella?" Artie laughed as the bird climbed to her feet and began walking up his legs. He whistled to it, "Come here, girl." The bird stopped to peck at the sheets on his legs, obviously ignoring him.

"Something is wrong with that bird," Jim muttered, as he pulled the second pigeon out. Henrietta hopped from his hand onto his shoulder and cooed into his ear. "You like me, don't you, girl?" The bird rubbed her face against his cheek, cooing louder. "I almost forgot about them, partner, but they were fine."

Artie rolled slowly onto his back, his head held up by a pile of pillows. He watched Arabella walk around on the sheets, then held his hand out to her. The bird leaped into the air and fluttered farther down by his feet again and returned to pecking at the folds of cloth. Looking more awake, he turned to Jim. "Buddy, I need to tell you something, as a friend before someone else mentions it." He paused, dramatically, looking at Jim's open shirt and then down at his pants. Jim stared back, waiting for the declaration he knew was coming, "You smell terrible. And you don't look much better."

Jim laughed, "Do I smell like smoke? It must be the clothes. My head is so full of smoke I can't smell anything else." He held his right sleeve to his nose and sniffed, grimacing. He turned his hands over to looks at his palms, the finger tips showing were dark with soot and the white cloth was grey and frayed. "I really need to catch that doctor for some clean bandages." Henrietta walked to his neck and began nibbling on his hair, snapping bits off.

"So how bad was the fire?" Artie asked. "Is it the entire car then?"

"Oh, no," Jim said, reaching up to stroke the bird's smooth feathers. "It's just the front room and part of the ceiling going into the galley. I think it's just the interior, and the windows, of course, and the doors. But we have plenty of spare glass and more doors in the storage room. I think just the walls and ceiling need to be rebuilt and painted." Artie nodded, lost in thought now. Jim watched him for a minute and then took a deep breath. "I did find something that I couldn't explain." Artie looked back to him. "I am hoping you will remember what you were doing when I tell you."

Artie shrugged and then grimaced, as the movement in his shoulders spiked pain. Gritting his teeth, he said, "try me but I make no promises."

Jim leaned closer and stared at him, "Scissors."

Artie stared back, waiting for more. When Jim stayed silent he asked, "What about them?"

Jim sighed, "The scissors were on the floor by the table." He paused again, obviously losing hope. "They were open, as if you had been cutting with them like a knife?" He moved his hand in a drawing motion. "Do you remember cutting anything with scissors?"

Artie shook his head slowly. "No."

"Oh, come on," Jim said, bursting out. "Throw me a bone, partner! Anything!"

"I don't remember!" Artie said, clearly frustrated. "Do you want me to make something up?" Both birds suddenly took flight, alarmed at the raised voices. The two men, glaring at each other, ignored them. "Was I cutting anything when you left the room?"

"No, you were writing reports and the table was covered with pens and stacks of papers," Jim said, "that's why I know something changed. You stopped what you were doing and started doing something else. The scissors were in the drawer when I left. You must have gotten them out and did something." Henrietta landed on his shoulder again as Arabella bounced against the closed door. "Well, maybe it will come to you eventually. But it would make it easier for me to figure out what happened."

Artie sighed too, obviously worried, twisting uncomfortably on the bed. "Hey," he said, pointing to a counter. "Grab me a couple more pillows, would you please, and stuff them behind my head? I need to sit up for a while." Jim stood and staggered to the counter. He grabbed pillows and staggered back to the bed. He paused, glaring down at his partner, who was now laughing.

"What?" Jim snapped.

Artie pointed up at him, "You're limping around with a bird on your shoulder. You just look like a pirate," he said, laughing again.

"Ya, funny," Jim said, leaning over to stuff the pillows behind Artie's back, twisting his body as he felt the bird's claws through the loose shirt as she walked down his spine. "Maybe I could get a hook for a hand, while I am at it." He stood slowly again, as Henrietta walked back up to his shoulder. "Or we could join the circus as the crazy guy with pet pigeons," he said to the bird, as she began rubbing his ear with her head. He sat slowly again in the chair, "so have you been out of this bed yet?"

Artie nodded, "I snuck over to the bathroom. I almost made it back without being caught." Jim laughed. "I hate bedpans."

"Especially ones brought by pretty nurses," Jim said, thinking back of times he was laid up with various wounds. "Eaten anything?"

Artie grimaced, "well, I ate something," he paused, "it was a hot liquid of some kind." He grimaced and shook, making a terrible face, at the memory.

Jim prodded, "soup? Tea?"

"Dish water," Artie said, nodding. "I think it was dish water." Jim laughed, knowing how particular his friend was about food. "I seemed to have survived it though."

Suddenly the door opened, sending Arabella into the air again from where she had settled in the floor at the base of the door. "Oh, no," Margaret said, ducking as she entered the room carrying a large pitcher and a covered tray. "I am so sorry. I must have left the window open and a pigeon flew in. Wait and I will open it again and send it out!"

"No!" Both men yelled at once, causing the nurse to spin around to stare at them in shock. Jim stood and turned to her, pointing to the second bird on his shoulder, "they are mine. Just leave the window closed, please, for now." He smiled as Margaret flushed and giggled, pointing at Henrietta, who was nervously hiding behind Jim's neck. The bird clung to his collar, causing his open shirt to twist down his shoulders. The bird's wings flapped as it tried to regain its perch, the wing tips smacking his cheeks and fluttering his hair. Jim grabbed at the shirt's front and pulled it back down over his chest and stomach. "This is Henrietta. She's a little shy."

"And that's Arabella," Artie said, as the second bird flew around the room, close to the ceiling, feathers fluttering down onto the people below. She settled on a high shelf, knocking rolls of bandages onto the floor below. "She's a little shy too."

Jim snorted, shaking his head at the bird, which was now settling down on the shelf.

"Well I guess they can stay here," Margaret said, "I don't think the doctor has ever had pets before but it would be good for patient moral."

Jim cleared his voice and tried to sound firm, "these are not pets, miss, they are carrier pigeons. It's how we communicate when working in the field. They just need to stay with us while our train is repaired."

"Train?" Margaret asked.

"Yes," Jim said, "haven't I mentioned that? We live on a train. It's parked at the train yard. That's how Artemus was injured."

"Oh," Margaret said, nodding and walking to Artemus. "I had no idea what happened to you but this explains it. We have had many people injured in train accidents though it's odd that I hadn't heard anything in the newspaper about a train crash." She turned away and Artie rolled his eyes at Jim behind her back. "I brought some sandwiches for you and a fresh pitcher of water. I am sure you are both hungry." She turned to the back of the room and set the tray and pitcher on the back shelf. "We are busy this afternoon but the doctor wants to change your bandages, Mr. West, this afternoon." She turned to leave, pausing again to look down at Artemus. "Are you sure you wouldn't want me to bring you some pain medication, sir? Just a weak dose before you eat?"

Artemus smiled but shook his head, refusing, and the nurse sighed and nodded defeat. She silently left the room, brushing white feathers from her nurse's dress as she closed the door.

Jim walked to the tray and removed the cover. "Well, partner, feel like eating lunch?" He walked slowly back to his chair and sat with the tray on his knees. Sandwiches were stacked neatly in piles. "This is fancy," Jim muttered, "white bread, no crusts, cut in triangles. I wonder if my mother is hiding in the kitchen."

Artie chuckled, "If she was, Jim, she would be out here clucking away with the nurses." Jim nodded, picking up a sandwich to examine the contents. "What are they?" Artie peered suspiciously at the sandwich.

Jim took a big bite and chewed, obviously thinking at the same time. He finally shrugged and handed a triangle to Artie. "No idea," he said, "you try it. "

Artie took the sandwich and looked at the contents more closely. "Grey something that doesn't even have a smell." He looked at his friend over the bread, "not that I can smell anything now that you're back." Jim just winked at him. He took a small bite and chewed slowly, looking like a man tasting a fine wine. "No idea," he finally agreed. "But not bad tasting. Definitely better than the dish soap I had earlier." With a burst of feathers, Arabella landed on his feet again and quickly hopped up his legs. "Oh, now you want to be friends, eh?" Artie put the sandwich on the sheet and held out a piece of the bread. The bird flew to his fingers and began pecking the bread to pieces.

Henrietta quickly joined the picnic on the bed, attacking the bits of bread. Amused, Artie watched them for a few minutes and then raised his sandwich again toward his mouth. Both birds jumped from the bed to his fingers, pecking now at the bread in his hand. "Hey," he said, shaking his hand. The birds only clung more firmly.

Jim stood, moving the tray to the nearby side table. He reached out and pulled them off his partner's hand, placing them back on the bed. "Here," he said, handing them more bread. "Eat yours and leave Artie alone." He sat back and reached for a second triangle. Both birds, noticing his movement now, flew to his hand, landing on his fingers just as he was taking a bite. He lowered his hand to his lap and watched as they pecked at the sandwich, bits of bread landing on his legs and onto the floor at his feet. "They're not eating, they're just attacking it."

"You did bring their bird food, didn't you," Artie asked, quickly eating his sandwich while the birds weren't looking in his direction.

Jim paused, "no, I'll be going back soon, I'll grab it then," he sighed, watching the birds. "Are you starving? Eat the bread, then, stop throwing it around." The birds ignored him and started pecking at the contents now. "Maybe it's a ground pigeon sandwich." He slowly picked up another triangle of sandwich with his other hand, rising slowly to his lips. Again, the birds noticed the movement and flew to his other hand, wings smacking his face, and began tearing the sandwich as he stubbornly took a bite. Growling, Jim lowered both hands now to his knees.

Just then a knock came to the closed door. Both men looked up as the door cracked open and Jeremy peeked in. "Hey, want some visitors?"

"Join the party, Jer," Jim said, still glaring at the birds that now each pecked at a sandwich in each of his hands.

Jeremy walked into the room followed by a much younger man. "Fellas, I would like you to meet Steve, my new partner," Jeremy said, smiling, obviously pleased. Jim and Artie looked up at him. He was tall and muscular, with blond hair cut short, and a smiling eager expression.

Artie nodded, "Hello and forgive me for not getting up." He chuckled, waving his good hand.

"Sir," Steve said, nodding, "yes, sir, I heard. I hope you are feeling better."

"I am, thank you," Artemus said, "But please call me Artemus, no sir needed among us."

Jim laughed and stood up, slowly placing the two sandwiches on the bed next to Artie's hip. He waited for the birds to hop back on the bed sheets and then turned, reaching a hand out. Steve stepped forward, quickly, to shake his hand. "Good to meet you, Steve," he said, releasing the strong grip. "We are all relieved that Jeremy has a partner." He caught Jeremy's stare as the older man looked at the pigeons on the bed. "What?" He asked, trying to look serious, "We have to feeding the girls," he said. Each bird stood on a triangular piece of sandwich now, bits of bread flying into the air. "You guys want a sandwich? Before they are all shredded to pieces?"

"No, thank you though, sir," Steve said, stealing a glance to Jeremy. He looked back to see Jim smiling.

"Call me Jim," he said, "and no sir, you make me feel old." He nodded to Jeremy, "You tell him to say that?"

"No," Jeremy said, "He was just brought up correctly." Artie and Jim laughed, "So I would appreciate it if you didn't ruin him immediately, if you don't mind?"

"Have a seat," Jim said, "Or are you off to tour the city?" Jim sat back down, slowly, stretching his right leg out. He leaned back and put his boots up on the bed, pushing his partner's leg out of the way. Artie glared at him but didn't protest.

"Actually we just came from Colonel Richmond," Jeremy said, "And we come bearing good news." Jim sighed, watching him, as he rubbed his hands on his sore knees. "President Grant has informed the Colonel that no expense will be spared for repairing the Wanderer and the work must start immediately. " Jim and Artie looked at each other, surprised. "And," Jeremy continued, "Colonel already has a crew starting first thing tomorrow morning."

"Crap," Jim sighed, leaning back in the chair again. His arms fell to his sides and his head tipped down to his chest. A weak groaning came from him as Artie chuckled nearby.

Alarmed, Jeremy reached a hand to his friend's shoulder. "Jim, I thought this would be good news to you." He glanced over to Artie. "Isn't it?" Artie nodded, obviously lost in thought now.

"It is, Jer," Jim said, slowly lifting his head. "It is. I am just thinking of what I need to move out of the train before they can work. We need clothes, at least, for a few days…or weeks even. And I need to move things into our rooms and then I can lock the doors."

Artie looked over to him, "All those tricks of ours need to be disengaged. If one of the workmen should trip something…"

"Ya," Jim said, nodding agreement. "We don't want anything exploding or anyone being shot, especially when they rip into the walls and ceilings." He held up his hands and began ticking off fingers. Pausing, he looked at Artie, "How many were we up to anyway? A dozen?"

"Yes, because you told me we couldn't have thirteen, it would be unlucky," Artie grinned, also holding up his unbandaged hand, counting on his fingers. "The spinning table with the two pistols; the wall that lowers with guns; the billiard balls that we still have…"

Jim continued, "The boat that turns over with the guns underneath," he caught Steve's bewildered look, and grinned up at him. "Want to help? I could use a tall person, for a change."

Steve stood slightly taller, nodding eagerly. "I have no idea what you are describing but it sounds very interesting." He looked at Jeremy, "Sir?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Jeremy," Jim snapped, winking at Artie, "you do have him saying sir!"


	11. Chapter 11

11.

"Jim," Jeremy said, slowly, as he looked at his friend's bed, "what you need is a new firearm." He chuckled at his own joke and looked back at his new, young partner, "Have you ever seen such a collection?"

Steve shook his head, his eyes moving from long gun to handgun, each carefully laid out on the bed quilt. "My father has a few hunting rifles and a shotgun. I never heard of anyone with this many before."

Jim finished tucking a towel around his black rifle, rubbing a sweaty fingerprint off the barrel, and straightened his back, sighing wearily. He turned to his fellow agents, "This is an important part of my work. Besides they aren't all mine." He pointed to the rifles, laid out in rows by his pillows. "Those two are mine," he said, pointing to the black rifle with the silver studs, and three plainer rifles. "And those two are Artie's. You have to have a back-up rifle, you know, in case one breaks. And these," he continued, pointing to three shotguns, "are the shotguns with different chokes, depending on what we need to do. And of course these," his finger now swirling the air above a group of handguns, "are our revolvers; full-size, pocket pistols, and Derringers. You can't just have one handgun either because each one has its job." He picked up the smallest handgun. "Such as this sleeve gun," Jim held the firearm in his open palm, holding it out to the young agent.

"What's a sleeve gun?" Steve asked, stepping forward into the small bedroom. Jeremy moved around to the side of the bed, allowing his partner a closer view. The bed, seemingly much too wide for the small room, took up most of the space, while the sides of the walls were lined with built in bureaus and enclosed bookshelves. Unlike Artie's room, with a narrow bed surrounded by boxes of books and stacks of trunks containing who knew what, Jim's room was neat as a pin.

Jim picked up a metal bar, leather straps dangling, from a shelf over the head of his bed. He pushed up the shirt sleeve on his right arm and slipped his hand and arm into the straps. He leaned closer to Steve, showing him how the small Derringer fit into the metal fame. "Now, you push it back by your elbow." He lowered his arm to his hip, then, with a quick snap, his arm raised, the gun was already in his palm.

"Wow!" Steve stepped back, looking from Jim's hand to his elbow. "That's amazing!"

Jim grinned and carefully placed the Derringer back on the bed. The he pulled his hand out of the straps and put the mechanism back on its shelf. "Tricks like that can save your life. When I am moving around better, I will have you try it out."

Steve's eyes went back to the bed and then back to Jeremy. "Do you have all these things too?"

Jeremy laughed, "Steve, no one has tricks like they do and you haven't seen the half of it yet. Right, Jim?" Jeremy nodded back to the hallway. "Did you want to start unhooking everything now?" Jim nodded, tiredly, and they all moved back to the living room.

Jim paused in the center of the room, "Steve, if you can boost me up into the ceiling, I think I can reach most of the wires from here. I hope I can unhook them. If I have to cut wires, I will have to restring all this shit later. I just hope everything will be out of the way of the workmen." Steve leaned over and hooked his hands together. Jim stepped a boot toe into the cupped hands and slowly, was lifted him into the ceiling beams. Jim sat carefully onto a charred wooden framing board. "Ok, catch what I drop and pile these on Artie's bed."

"That's about the only place to put anything in his room," Jeremy said, "Your partner is a pack rat." He grinned as Jim dropped a metal box down to Steve who passed it to him.

Jim's voice drifted down from the ceiling. "The other day," he said, talking as he worked, "I tried to find a box under my bed and found a dozen boxes instead." He paused, puling at wires over his head. "All boxes of books! Someday he will remove my bed and fill my room with his shit!" He dropped a handful of wires now to Steve. "I swear I should lock it when I leave the train." He winked at Steve, laughing at the young man's shocked look. "Maybe I can talk him into loaning you some books and lighten the load on my train's engine."

Steve nodded, "I would love to look at a few of them, if he didn't mind me touching them. I took a few chemistry classes in college."

"Oh, ya," Jim said, "You just ask him. Then see if you can get him to stop talking about chemistry. He can make your head ring," he said. He pulled at a wire, which broke and he tipped backwards off the beam. Reaching out with his hands, he grabbed at other ceiling supports to stop his fall, just as Steve moved to catch him from below. Pulling himself upright again, he shook his hands, wrapping the old, loose bandages back over his palms. "Ya, I don't know how I would do this job without him, though. He sure has saved me more times than I can count." He wiped a hand over his eyes briefly and reached up again to pull at more wires.

It was dark when Jim walked slowly up the back steps of the clinic. He paused by the back door, moving the heavy carpet bag from his right hand to his left. He reached out to open the door, hoping it wasn't locked. The knob turned easily and he stepped into the back hallway. Irritated now at finding the door unsecured so late at night, he turned and snapped a deadbolt shut, locking it. He sighed wearily, moving the bag back to his right hand. The envelope enclosing Cobb's repair estimate was crumpled now, clasped in his left hand. He had thanked his engineer but still couldn't bring himself to open it, not that it seemed to matter now. The workmen would be at the train in just a few hours.

Jim paused at the door of Artie's room. He had wished a hundred times for his partner's help that afternoon, all the while grateful that he had not tried to come. Jim's legs' throbbed and his head swam with exhaustion. He turned the knob and slowly snuck into the room, placing the carpet bag out of the way. He reached for the chair and then spun, crouching, as footsteps came behind him. He sighed with relief as the doctor appeared in the dark doorway. She hooked a finger at him and motioned him to join her outside the room. Jim stole a quick glance at his partner; Artie appeared to be sound asleep, slow snores coming from him as he lay on his back. The white bandages on his head seemed to glow brightly in the dim light. Jim turned and walked slowly to the doctor.

"This way," she whispered, moving into the small exam room across the hall. As he entered, she silently shut the door. A gas light burned weakly and she stopped quickly to it, turning it higher, lighting the room. She turned back to him, her arms crossed and her face stern. "All right, Jim," she said, her voice low but firm. "This is getting out of hand."

Jim leaned a hand on the exam table and yawned. He blinked at her, waiting.

She sighed and walked closer, her eyes noticing the dirty bandages on his hands and the limp, favoring his right leg. "Do you realize these bandages haven't been changed since I put them on you yesterday?" she said, emphasizing the last word. "They may be completely stuck to you by now. They should have been changed…" she paused, noticing that his was standing with his eyes shut, almost asleep. "Oh for heaven's sake," she sighed again. "Pull your pants off and get on the table."

"What?" Jim's blue eyes opened, "what did you say?" He watched her rummage through drawers. Without looking at him, she pointed at the exam table. Jim sighed heavily and unbuttoned his pants, his sore fingers struggling with each button hole. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, he suddenly wished he was at Dr. Lake's. He pushed his pantlegs down over his knees to his boot tops and boosted himself onto the cushioned bench. Trying to recapture control of the room, he asked "How is Artemus?"

"We are talking about you now," she snapped without looking at him. Walking over to him with a pair of scissors she silently cut the bandages from his hands. She dropped the soiled strips of clothes into a trash can and began examining his palms. "How do your hands feel?"

Jim watched her, "sore but not as bad as yesterday." He sighed, closing his eyes again. "Was it only yesterday? It seems like a month ago."

"Any sharp pain?" She asked. She gently twisted his palms toward the flickering light.

"No, just dull aches when I try to use my fingers," he said.

"You should be resting, like your friend," She snapped. "You have been running in and out like my clinic is some cheap motel."

Jim laughed quietly, "Now how would you know what goes on in a cheap motel?" Her gaze snapped up to meet his, her eyes narrowed angrily.

"It isn't funny," she said. "Is this when Dr, Lake would yell at you? Because you aren't taking care of yourself? Because you get injured and expect a doctor to fix everything and make your body perfect again?" She turned away, slamming the scissors on the counter, breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry," Jim whispered, alarmed at her manner. "But I have been hurt enough times to know when I am really injured. If I was, I would be resting. I would have to." He took a deep breath, getting annoyed at speaking to her turned back. "I also have a job where I have to keep moving, at times, even when I would rather not." She turned to look at him, staring hard into his eyes. He smiled, winking, trying to lighten the mood. "I am also a fast healer."

She laughed and walked back to him, again armed with the scissors. "Well you had better hope so because your knees are going to hurt when I remove the bandages."

Jim smiled tiredly, "Lake would just yank them off," he said slowly, remembering the grumpy old man.

"I bet he did," the doctor said, "I feel like it myself." She stepped closer and began cutting. Jim closed his eyes and tried to ignore how she smelled of fresh soap and how an occasional hair brushed the end of his nose as she moved in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Artie said sleepily, as he felt the bed shift next to him.

"Shove over," Jim snarled, pushing his shoulder against Artie's as he lay down on top of the blankets next to him. He lifted his feet onto the mattress and slowly lowered his head, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness. His head pounded and his knees throbbed, after the doctor's cleaning. He let out a long breath as his eyes slowly shut.

Artie moved over slightly, giving him more space. "Isn't there another bed in this place you can use? One that isn't already occupied?"

"The doctor said they are all occupied and if I got into bed with a woman patient, I would be more injured than I am now." He yawned and settled his shoulders more onto the mattress. "Besides, I don't take up much space."

"But you smell of smoke and you usually snore," Artie said, inching farther over onto his side of the mattress. "And I am more inured than you are." He chuckled, "At least I was before you had bandages changed by an angry female doctor."

"Maybe that's why women aren't supposed to be doctors," Jim chuckled. "She didn't yell as loud as ole Lake but she was pretty mad. Said I was treating her clinic like a cheap hotel. "

"And how would she know what a cheap hotel is like?" Artie whispered, laughing too. "So, how was the train? Did you get it ready for the workmen?"

"I hope so," Jim said, his voice becoming quiet. "Steve and Jeremy helped me move all the guns onto my bed and all the other stuff onto yours and then I locked the rooms. I brought a bunch of clothes for us too."

"Did you find all twelve?" Artie asked in the darkness. There was a long pause in the darkness. He turned his head to look at his partner, seeing the outline of his face only inches away.

"No," Jim finally said. His voice was tight with worry. "I only found eleven."

Artie pointed toward the side table, "I wrote out a list this afternoon, trying to remember everything we have installed over the years. You can read it in the daylight, it might help."

"Did you remember all twelve?" Jim asked, sounding relieved.

"No, I only remembered nine," Artie sighed, "but I might have thought of the one you didn't."

"Maybe we really don't have twelve?" Jim said, eagerly trying to explain his memory lapse.

"No, we have twelve," Artie said. "So how does Steve seem?"

Jim thought for a minute, "He seemed very pleasant and helpful, jumped all afternoon to do whatever I needed. He treated Jeremy well, polite, seemed interested in whatever he was saying or doing. He asked a lot of questions." He paused, obviously worried about something.

"What?" Artie said, sensing his partner's tension in the dark.

"He said something that disturbed me," Jim muttered. "I probably shouldn't mention it to you though. Maybe it won't even come up." He closed his eyes, but smiled in the darkness, trying to hold back his laughter.

"What?" Artie snapped, worried and curious, as usual when feeling his partner isn't giving him all of the information.

"He said he took chemistry classes in college and wants to discuss it with you." Jim laughed, poking an elbow into his friend's rib cage. "He even wants to borrow some books, if you can spare any."

"Very funny," Artie said, irritated. "Sounds like a smart person with whom I will enjoy talking with." Artie grumbled under his breath. He reached behind his head and pulled a pillow out from his pile. He smacked it onto Jim's face, "Here."

Jim grabbed it and stuffed it under his head. "Thanks," he said, still laughing. "Hey, how is your hand doing? Can you use your fingers?"

"Oh, yes," Artie said, holding the bandaged hand up in the darkness. "It's getting better. When the wrappings are off, I can move my hand. Its sore but everything works. The skin is still red and the dead skin is peeling off." Jim made a grumbling sound in the darkness. "It's fine," Artie said. "But my arm and back itch like the Devil!"

Jim chuckled quietly, finally relaxing. He shifted his legs, kicking off his boots. They landed with thumps onto the floor.

"How are your knees," Artie asked, "You still limping around like a pirate?"

"Yes, they're sore," he said. "I'll better tomorrow. I am going to stop in to meet these workmen, make sure Cobb is there, and then start figuring out what caused the explosion. I really don't want this to happen again. I need to get on it before the trail runs cold."

"I should be able to help you tomorrow," Artie said, "I don't need to hang around here any longer." He felt Jim's head lift next to him and braced himself for the argument.

"What?" Jim said, "You aren't invited, partner."

"I'm fine," Artie insisted. "I have been walking around the halls, my head is healed up…"

"Your head is still wrapped in bandages and you only have one eye working," Jim said, lying back down. He held a hand up in the dark in an attempt to stop the argument. "Let's make a deal," he said. He waited for his partner to stop grumbling. "Tomorrow, I will get us rooms at the Capitol Hotel. If this crazy doctor will let you out," stopping again as Artie growled at him, "then we will move over there, birds and all. It will be a while before we are back on the train."

"Fine," Artie agreed. After a pause, he asked quietly, "Did you bring the food for the birds?"

"Damn," Jim grumbled.


	12. Chapter 12

Train Wreck Chapter 12

The moaning and shrieking seemed to come from a far distance away. Then it seemed to be nearby. Artemus shifted his shoulders, the restraints holding him fast. He stopped his struggles and listened again, trying to make out what was being said. The voices were hurried, excited, and oddly familiar. If he could just hear what they were saying, he thought, he could determine where he was. His head was dizzy suddenly. I must have been drugged, he said to himself, trying to remember what he had eaten or drank last. He froze, listening again, as a groaning sound came from much closer. Is it Jim? His heart skipped a beat in his chest. He must be nearby. With a burst of strength, he twisted his shoulders and managed to get his right arm free. He sat up quickly and ripped of a blindfold covering his eyes.

"Oh," he sighed, his body suddenly weak with relief. He stretched what muscles he could and turned to watch his partner. Jim was next to him, snores interspersed with groans as he shifted his legs painfully in his sleep. Not wanting to awaken him, Artie slowly moved his feet out of the bed sheets and onto the floor. He sat for a few minutes, waiting for his head to clear. He held the head wrappings in his hand, wondering what the doctor would say. He hoped a dashing wink would save him from a scolding, but he wasn't sure if the trick would work with a female who was also a physician.

"Well, let's get going, lazy," he muttered to himself under his breath. He reached his right hand out to the wall and managed to gain his feet. He leaned his shoulder against the wall as the room spun around him. Shutting his eyes helped but it seemed to make the floor move. He opened his eyes again and took a careful step toward the door. Keeping one hand on the wall to steady himself, he slid along the plaster until he reached the door frame. He was almost to the door knob when he noticed his large carpet bag on the floor nearby. It was open and he could see his blue smoking jacket. Curious to see what else was inside, he slowly knelt to one knee.

"Good choices, James," he smiled, pulling out the jacket and a clean shirt. Rummaging around further, all he could find were night clothes. Glaring up at his friend, or at the brown hair on the top of Jim's head, which was all he could see at the moment, he muttered a bit louder this time, "Thanks for not bringing me pants, you son of a …" Jim groaned, turning onto his side. Artie immediately felt rotten and stood back up for a better view. Jim gasped a few times but seemed to still be asleep. "Probably having the same nightmare," he said, turning for the bathroom with a handful of oddly matched clothes.

Margaret burst through the door, her arms loaded with blankets. "Oh, "she said, stopping at the side of the bed just as Jim jumped to his feet in front of her. The noise in the hallway had started to awaken him and her slamming into the room brought him abruptly out of bed. "Oh, dear," she gasped again, as he stood in front of her blinking sleep from his eyes. His shirt hung open and he stood, barefoot, swaying slightly on sore knees. He reached up to push his hair out of his face.

"What?" he snapped, irritated at the abrupt awakening.

The nurse paused, and looked beyond him at Artemus, who was sitting in a chair on the far side of the room. "Oh, here," she said, pushing the blankets into Jim's arms. She turned and scurried from the room, not bothering to close the door.

"Wait," Jim protested, trying to follow her. After a few steps he stopped in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. He watched the nurse hurry into the lager exam room. The door slammed shut.

"What's happening," Artemus said quietly from the back side of the room. He had been watching the sun rise out the windows, seeing the city come to life in the early morning. Recently, the voices shouting from the front of the clinic had become louder and more urgent; obviously something serious had been occurring. He eyed the blankets his partner was holding. "What did the nurse just give you?"

"I have no idea," Jim said, yawning, as he sat back on the edge of the bed. He stretched his right leg out, gritting his teeth. "I think she wrapped my knee too tight last night. I can't seem to bend it."

"Ya, ya," Artie said impatiently, eyes still on the blankets. He nodded, "check what you're holding before you toss those blankets on the floor."

"What?" Jim said, not understanding his partner's concern. He sighed and reached a hand up to unfold the wraps, and gasped, his hand frozen in midair as he stared into a tiny face. "It's a baby," he whispered, without looking at his friend. "Margaret handed me a baby."

"I thought she might have," Artie said. Curious, as usual, he slowly rose to his bare feet and walked back to the bed. He sat down next to Jim and looked into the blankets. "Look at that," he whispered, "only a few minutes old. I thought I heard a baby crying just now." He smiled at the baby as the little eyes looked back and forth between the stunned men. Little hands wiggled tiny fingers as the baby stretched and yawned.

"What's wrong with it, do you think?" Jim said, finally looking worriedly at Artie.

"What do you mean?" Artie said, leaning closer to studying the baby's face. "He, or she, looks fine, healthy." He waited while Jim waved a finger at the baby's face.

"Why is it all red and the skin is all wrinkled?" Jim stared at the baby again, shifting his arms slightly. "Do you think it's sick?" He turned to see his partner grinning at him. "What?" he snapped, trying to keep his voice down.

"All new babies look like that," Artie laughed. "Haven't you ever seen a brand new baby?" Jim grimaced and shook his head. "Give it time, this one will look normal to you very soon. "

"Well, you hold it," Jim said, passing the bundle to his partner.

"Wait, hold on," Artie protested. "I only have one arm, you know". He gathered the baby in his right arm and steadied the blankets with his left. "Why, you can't hold a baby?"

"I'm going to the bathroom, "Jim said, lurching back to his feet. "And getting dressed and getting out of here before something else happens." He staggered to the carpet bag and began pulling clothes out.

"Hey, by the way," Artie said, glaring at him, "You seemed to have forgotten my pants."

"You aren't going anywhere," Jim snapped, "So you don't need any." He chuckled at his own joke as he disappeared into the bathroom across the hall.

"Well," Artie said, talking to the baby. "I guess it's just you and me, precious. What is your Momma going to call you? Angel, maybe?" He cooed at the baby and the little face lit up in a smile. Jim reappeared, walking stiffly.

"What time is it?" Jim asked, "I wonder when those workmen will get there." He snatched up a piece of paper off the table and quickly scanned the script. "Ya, thanks, but I got all those. Good try though. Give it some more thought and maybe you can come up with the missing number twelve." He tossed it back onto the table and turned a worried face back to Artie. "Maybe number twelve was somewhere else on the train?" Artie silently shook his head. "Ya, I know," hating to admit that he had missed one. He walked to the end up the bed and picked up his boots. Just as he leaned over to stomp into them, Margaret reappeared.

"Oh, you can't leave now," she gasped, tears streaking down her face. "You just can't." She hurried to him and thrust a small glass bottle into his hand.

"Margaret," Jim said, grabbing her wrist firmly in his other hand. "What is going on? What do you expect me to do?"

"The baby needs a bottle, its dehydrated," she gasped, "and you're the only one here who can feed the poor little girl. The doctor and I are trying to save the mother."

Jim managed to interrupt her, "aren't there other nurses her besides you?"

"The other nurses won't be here for another hour. Clinic starts late today, its evening hours tonight," she pulled her wrist free of his grasp and wiped tears from her cheek, "I'm sorry, please stay," she begged and turned away, hurrying from the room.

Jim stood, hand still outstretched and stared at the bottle in his other hand. "This place is nuts," he said, "Never again. From now on we go to Dr. Lake's hospital."

"Oh, no, not for me," Artie said firmly. "I like it much better here."

"You grew up in a hen house," Jim said, "this is all crazy to me."

Artie laughed, "A Hen House?" He sat back further onto the bed. "My father is always there too. Just because I have sisters when you only have brothers."

"Four sisters," Jim said, putting the bottle on the side bed, "to my two brothers. Plus a very," he paused, winking now, "boisterous mother, equals Hen House in my book."

"Ya, well, you're still feeding a baby before you run off," Artie said, nodding toward the bottle.

"Oh, no," Jim said, grabbing for his boots again. "No way, I have no idea how to do that and I am not interested in learning. You can do it." He stomped in his foot down with a bang, the sore knees forgotten in his haste to escape.

"And just how do you expect me to do that with one arm?" Artie glared, no amusement flickering in his dark eyes now. "If the nurse said the baby is dehydrated, than the baby needs help. So sit your butt down and learn how to feed one." He nodded his forehead toward the bed and held his partner's stunned look until Jim, sighing with resignation, sat next to him. "Hold the baby again," Artie said, handing the bundle back over. He watched as Jim adjusted his arms. "Hold her head up straighter," he said as Jim moved slightly. "Ok, grab the bottle and stick it in her mouth."

Jim gingerly picked up the glass bottle and peered at the thin white liquid. "Is this milk? It looks thin."

"They may have added water," Artie said, also looking. "I am sure its fine."

Jim took a deep breath and held the bottle up, slowly putting the nipple in the baby's mouth. The infant immediately started sucking, wiggling its hands in the air. One tiny set of fingers grabbed Jim's thumb, holding tight. Jim relaxed and watched the baby, a slow smile creeping to his face.

"She is actually drinking," he whispered. He looked up at Artie, grinning, "Look, I am feeding a baby! " He turned back to watch again.

"You have never done this?" Artie said, shaking his head. "Your brothers all have children. Where was Uncle Jim? Hiding outside with his horse?"

"My brothers have wives to take care of the kids; besides my mother is crazier than yours when it comes to babies." He laughed, "thank God I don't have to provide grandchildren for her."

Artie snorted, leaning back and relaxing now, since Jim was doing such a fine job. "Maybe you will someday. You never know when some honey bunny will catch your eye for good." Jim glared at him and looked back at the baby.

"You shouldn't hang around this guy," Jim said, "He's crazy, just like his mother." The baby wiggled both hands toward his face as she continued drinking. Jim, mesmerized, forgot where he had been running to.

The excited man yelled again as Jim gripped the paper bag tighter under his arm. The man was pointing to the ceiling, apparently describing something important about the train. Jim nodded and smiled. "Yes, thank you," he said, raising his voice, though obviously the man could hear him. "I'm sorry, I don't understand." He shrugged and looked past the man down the hall to the living room of the varnish car. Men swarmed the room, chopping pieces of wood paneling, pulling down the wall paper, and breaking out glass from the broken windows. Jim leaned forward for a better view but had to jump back as a line of men hurried past with armloads of burnt pieces of train interior. The man in front of him yelled again, pointing now at the floor. Jim groaned to himself, wishing Artie was with him to speak to the workmen. "Gracias," Jim said, not sure what language the man was speaking but knowing it wasn't Spanish or English. His only other choice would be the American Indian dialects he knew. He nodded his thanks again and hurried outside. He had to step around a pile of burnt wood and broken furniture, avoiding a closer at his ruined possessions. He paused as Cobb hurried to him.

"Jim," Cobb said, "did you talk to them?"

"Well," Jim said, looking back at the train. The leader stood in the doorway still shouting excitedly at him. "In a way," he said, looking back at Cobb. "But I have no idea what he is saying."

Cobb nodded, his forehead wrinkled with concern. "I hope they know what they are doing. They cleared the furniture out and now they seem to be pulling walls down. That guy keeps pointing at the ceilings." He looked back at Jim. "Do you think Artemus could come speak to them?"

Jim shook his head firmly, "No, not even for a minute." He snorted, "You know Artie; he would be here all day and get them all talking. No one would get any work done." Cobb laughed, nodding in agreement. "Besides, whatever they tear apart, they can just fix again." He looked back at the varnish car as the sound of broken glass drifted out to them. The blue eyes narrowed, whispering to himself, "I just wish I found that last snare."

Steve walked up with Blackjack. The horse tossed his head, excitedly, and moved forward to his boss, pushing Steve and Cobb to the side. Jim reached out to pat the horse's neck as the soft nose rubbed his face. "Whoa, buddy," Jim said, relieved to see the horse. "Did you miss me?" In answer, the horse licked his hair. "Hey, stop that," Jim laughed. He shoved his bundle into the saddle bag and pulled himself up into the saddle, throwing his sore right leg over the horse. Gingerly, he put his right boot into the stirrup. He grimaced but settled into the saddle, sitting comfortably.

"Jer," he called down, "You and Steve swing by the Capital Hotel later. I'm going to ride around here. Someone must have seen something or someone. A delivery man of some kind had to have come to the train." He shook his head in disgust as he looked around the rail yard. Dozens of men moved around the area, working at various jobs. "If only I was on the other side of the car that morning. I could have seen what happened." His voice trailed off as he spoke to himself.

"Jim?" Cobb's voice brought him back and he turned to look down again from the horse. "If you could stop at the yard master's office. I know he'd appreciate it? He may have some information for you. I know he has been asking around. And," the man paused, turning to look behind him at the office, "his young boy was here when it happened. And, well, he seems really upset. I was hoping you could talk to him."

Jim nodded thanks, and, with a wave to the other agents, he rode across the yard to a small, brick building. He slid from the saddle and limped inside.

The office building was an old block shaped house of brick. The interior had low ceilings and was darkly shaded inside, with the only light coming in though dirty windows. Rays of sunlight illuminated dust in the air as Jim walked across the dirty stone floor. Drake, the yard master, stood up from behind a desk scattered with papers. Jim faintly remembered the man who had helped him into a carriage.

"West," the man exclaimed, hurrying forward to shake hands with the agent. "Let me get you a chair," he said, noticing Jim's limp. "Though you look much better than the last time I saw you."

"Yes, I'm much better," Jim said, grateful to sit. "And my partner is better also." Drake pulled his chair from around the desk to sit closer. "Cobb said you might have information about what happened?"

Drake sat back and crossed his arms. Taking a deep breath, "well, I have spoken to lots of men and no one can remember seeing any one in particular. Of course they are all busy workers and keep their nose to the grindstone, if you know what I mean. That doesn't mean someone didn't come by. But my son is real upset and won't say why. I am wondering if he saw something. He is very observant and is underfoot all the time. He is too young to do more than run messages at his age but that keeps him outside and in the area." Cobb stood and walked to an open window, calling out to his son.

Before Jim could speak a young boy burst in from the door. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Jim sitting with his father. "Hey, son, look who's here?" The father motioned to him to come closer. The boy walked up to the men slowly, staring and nervous looking.

Jim smiled, watching the boy. "I remember you," he said. "You ran for the carriage and then you held the door for me when I got inside." He reached out to squeeze the boys' shoulder. "Thanks for your help that day."

The boy looked to his father and then back at Jim, then his face turned red and he burst into tears. He covered his face with his hands and moved to lean on his father's shoulder. "Look, son," his father said quietly, "This is important. You need to speak up and say what's troubling you. Mr. West needs to know if you saw anything that morning."

The boy turned watering eyes to Jim and spoke in a hushed voice. "I was outside, bringing a telegram to my Pa." His father nodded, remembering, "And I stopped to watch the delivery wagon cross the yard. It was fancy and I aint' never seen one painted up like it before." He paused as Jim leaned closer. "I saw it stop and the man driving got down and walked up the steps to the back door of your train. He came back to the wagon right soon after and drove away."

Jim said softly, "did he deliver something?"

The boy held his hands out in front of him, moving them to help describe a small shape. "It was a box. It was brown and square, kinda smallish like." Jim looked at the child's hands and imitated with his own.

"About this size?" He said, holding his hands out. The boy nodded. "Did the delivery wagon have a name on the outside?" The boy shook his head no. Jim sighed, knowing commercial delivery vans were always marked. Could the boy be mistaken or lying to him? "What color was it painted?"

"It was mostly black," the boy said, obviously thinking hard now. "But it had lots of gold and red swirls." The boy moved his hand in the air. "And the driver had fancy clothes that matched too. He even had a hat that was black with gold and red trim".

Jim laughed at the boy's excitement. "You have a great eye, and a great memory, for detail. You might be the only person who saw anything that day." The boy looked at his feet at mumbled something. His father kept his arm around his shoulders as tears began pouring down his cheeks again. "What was that?" Jim asked, looking at the father now.

"He keeps saying it's his fault," the man said, "I don't know what he means."

The boy nodded and looked up at Jim. "It's my fault that you and your friend got hurt," he shouted.

Jim sat back, shocked. "What? Why? How could it be your fault?"

"Because when I saw the box in the man's hand," the boy cried out as if confessing the evil in his soul, "I wished that it was a bomb and how exciting it would be that it would blow up. And it did, just as I was thinking about it." He broke into great sobs, his little body shaking. He father held him tighter, kissing the top of his head and whispering to him.

Jim watched for a minute, unsure what to do. He finally, slowly, got onto his knees and put his arm around the boy, slowly taking his from the father. Speaking slowly, he said, "Listen to me. " The sobs turned into gasps, which were quieter, "we all think our lives are boring some days and we hope for something exciting to happen. Adults do this too, not just you youngsters; even I do it. And then when something exciting happens, it can be a bad excitement, something upsetting that happens and we feel guilty. But what we thinking about, inside our heads, didn't make it happen." He squeezed the kid again, "Now tell me, did you help make this bomb?" The boy shook his head no. "And you didn't know this guy was coming, right? If you did, I bet you would have warned us." The boy nodded vigorously. "All right then," Jim said, leaning back to see the boy's face. "The man who did this is a bad person and I am going to find him. And you just helped me more than anyone else has because you told me what you saw." The boy wiped his eyes and stepped back. "Can you describe the man to me? Was he tall or short, fat or skinny?"

The boy took a deep breath and tilted his head to one side, "He was really tall, taller than my Pa," Jim nodded, "and he had a long face and he was skinny. And," the boy pointed to his upper lip. "He had a fancy mustache!"

Jim thought for a minute, "like a handle bar mustache that curls at the ends?"

The boy shook his head no, "Long and straight out." Jim nodded again, understanding. "Is your friend going to be ok now?" the boy asked.

Jim nodded, "he is going to be fine. He is leaving the hospital today and moving into a nice hotel where he and I will live until the train is fixed."

"Can I visit him?" The boy asked. Jim nodded, and rubbed his hand gently on the boy's head. "And can I help the workmen?"

"Well best to stay back out of the way," Jim said. "And I don't' think they speak English so it's hard to talk to them."

"They speak Italian," the boy said, looking to his father. "I heard them. They sound like the old man Balzanelli at the ticket office. He could talk to them for you."

Jim looked at Drake, "Is this true? That would be a great help to Cobb."

Drake smiled down at the boy, "Son, you may have just saved the day twice." The boy's face lit up with a smile and he hugged Jim around the neck, almost choking him.

Jim entered the freight office, trying not to limp, and walked slowly around the room. He stopped to look at shipping containers, checking prices on a chart which hung on the end of the shelf, and move closer to an open door that lead to the back of the building. He had seen the delivery wagon on the streets of the city, black with swirls of red and gold, just as the boy had described. He had followed it to the freight company. The wagon had been driven into the back as he entered through the front. As he approached the back of the room, a man slide a large wooden door shut, cutting Jim off from the wagon and whatever activity was beyond the back wall.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched customers at a large counter on the far side of the room. Two men were paying a woman at a register. Jim walked slowly in that direction now, again pausing to look at packing material, as if shopping in the store. Finally the men left and he noticed the woman watching him. She was tall and thin, with brilliant red hair piled high on her head in tight coils. Jim turned on his left leg and walked, slowly to her. He could see her eyes move up and down his body as he approached.

"Good morning," he said, giving her his most dashing smile, as he leaned on the counter. They appeared to be alone in the large room but a mirror behind her seemed out of place. He wondered if it could be used as a window. He remembers Dr. Loveless using two way mirrors in the past.

The woman smiled as her dark brown eyes widened. "And what can I do for you, sir," she whispered. She was holding a pencil and put it between her teeth, biting it, as she leaned closer to him. Her eyes wandered to his hair as he took off his hat, and then back to his face, obviously approving of what she saw.

"I need to have a package taken care of," Jim said, whispering also. "Do you deliver to trains?" He smiled as her eyes darted back to his in surprise. She attempted to recover quickly.

"I could, if it was a private train," She said, pausing to suck on the pencil. "I have never delivered anywhere like that before. Sounds like fun."

Jim moved his gaze down her dress, noting the low cut of the front and the extra tight fit. He looked back at her, enjoying the game. "Would you come alone or do you bring help with you?"

"I always travel with friends," she sighed, "but they can stay outside. I can come inside and," she was obvious with her gaze moving down his body again, "talk prices. What time should I stop over?"

"Well my train is under construction right now," Jim said, now moving the end of an index finger around on her desk. "Maybe I could meet you back here when you get done work? We could talk, get better acquainted?" Her eyes closed now, pencil still between the red-painted lips, as he slid his finger up her other hand, pausing at her wrist. "I was wondering what kind of package you deliver."

"I can do anything," she said softly. Her brown eyes opened again to stare into his. "Come back at ten tonight. No one will be here then." Jim scooped up her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, his tongue just touching her skin. Since she didn't pull away, he opened his mouth and pulled her fingertips in, gently sucking on them. He watched as her chest heaved with a deep, silent gasp. He released her hand and turned on his good leg and walked out.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13.

Jim walked through the back door of the clinic and paused before starting down the hallway. The excited, high pitched voices of women drifted down to him from the front of the hospital, though he couldn't see anyone in the hall itself. He quietly closed the door and stopped again, hearing his partner's raised voice coming from his room. He caught a few words of an old, often-told story and he wondered who his partner was tormenting. As Jim approached the door, Margaret burst from the small exam across the halllway, bumping into him.

"Oh, excuse me," she gushed, smiling at him as color rose to her cheeks. "I was just getting ready for the next patient. Its free clinic day today," she said, hurrying away, with a "busy!"

Jim chuckled and shook his head, turning the knob of Artie's door. He walked in to see his partner sitting with Jeremy and a heavyset, middle-aged woman. All were obviously relaxing in chairs by the windows. Jim noted the bed was neatly made and his partner seemed more wide awake then he had in days. "Hello," Jim said, walking slowly into the room, "If it isn't Jeremy and Mrs. Jeremy." He walked behind their chairs and leaned around the older agent to kiss the woman on the cheek. "When are you going to start dating younger agents, Dorothy?" The woman blushed and laughed, holding a hand to her face.

"Oh, now, James," Jeremy said, winking at his wife. "If I shared this incredible woman, all my young friends would just fight over her." He reached out to squeeze her knee as Artemus and Jim laughed.

"I see you found the baby," Jim said. He leaned down to look at the sleeping infant, now wrapped in a colorful knitted blanket. Then he noticed a tiny bed by the wall below the windows. He stood up to look at his partner, "Is the baby staying with you?" Artie looked up at him and opened his mouth to speak just as the bedroom door opened again. A group of colorfully dressed, young women hurried in. The last one peeked back up the hall before silently shutting the door.

"Good afternoon," Jim said, turning to greet the women with his easy smile. The girls, three in all, walked closer. "This is a surprise."

"And why is that?" A tall blond asked, "We told Artemus that we would return with his noon meal." She turned from Jim to smile at Artemus, as he stood slowly. "Oh, now, please don't get up, Artemus," she said, hurrying forward to take his outstretched hand. "You just sit right back down now." She stepped back as he laughed and resumed his seat. The girl turned to Jeremy, "and how are you today, Mr. Pike?"

"Excellent, Laura," Jeremy said, already on his feet. "Let me introduce you to my wife, Dorothy," He said placing a hand on the older woman's shoulder. "Dear, this is Laura, one of the secretaries in the typing pool." The young woman leaned over to gently shake hands with his wife. She paused to look at the baby as Jeremy continued.

"And this is Melinda," Jeremy said, nodding to a petite red-head, standing next to Jim. "But I don't believe I know your name," he said, looking to the third woman. The other young lady was of medium height, thin, with black hair pinned in large curls framing her face.

Melinda wrapped a hand around the other woman's arm, smiling, "This is Marlita," she said, as the other woman smiled, nodding to everyone. "She is also working with us in the office. She started a few days ago and is still meeting people, getting used to the city."

Marlita looked around the group, speaking slowly, "I am from France and I am just learning English. So please forgive me if I speak oddly to you."

Artemus smiled and nodded to her, speaking something in French. The woman turned to him, obviously pleased at being addressed in her own language. Jim rolled his eyes, hating being outdone by his partner when it came to women. He turned to her, "It is so nice to meet you," he said, He was delighted when she turned from his partner to him, a flush coloring her cheeks. He looked into her eyes. "Maybe I can show you to the theater some evening."

Melinda gave a grunt of laugher, "You two never quit, do you." She laughed again at Jim as he turned a sour face on her. "Herb already warned her about you agents," she said, winking to soften her tease. "Besides were are here to visit with Artemus because he was lonely this morning and hungry."

"Artie's always lonely and hungry. But it's very considerate of your boss to let you out during work hours. I know what a stickler he is for not mixing business and pleasure," Jim said, turning back to his partner. "And I thought they were providing you with food since you are a patient here."

"There's food," Artie said, with relish, "and there is better food. I was offered better food, from Sarducci's, in fact." His eyes returned to a basket the Laura was holding next to her skirts.

"And your wish is our command," she said, handing the basket over, with a low bow.

"Oh, funny," Jim said, his eyes now on the basket. "Someone's is supposed to be resting and instead is having a party."

"Laughter is good medicine," Dorothy said, adjusting her hold on the baby. The infant had been making soft noises as it woke up. "And I think this little girl would like to join the party too."

Melinda and Marlita stepped closer, past Jim, to look at the baby. Jim, feeling left out again, repeated his question to Artemus. "So why is the baby staying with you? Is the mother still sick?" He remembered how frantic Margaret had been earlier that morning.

Artie looked up at him and sighed, the dark eyes worried now. "The mother didn't make it, Jim." He paused, as Jim absorbed the news. "And the nurses have been out straight this morning with this free clinic day. I barely got breakfast. Then these ladies saw me outside, as the baby and I were taking in some fresh air, and decided to return with my lunch." He turned to look back at Laura, who was the only person not ogling the baby. "Of which I am very much indebted."

"Yes, well," she winked, "we will discuss your debts with us when you are feeling better." Artie smiled, obviously enjoying the thought of owing favors to the secretaries. "Marlita wanted to bring you a bottle of wine but we thought that should wait. We don't want you in trouble, drinking in a hospital." Marlita turned to smile at him and shrugged her shoulders.

"Thank you," Artemus said, turning his gaze from one young lady to the other, "we will all share a bottle or two another day. I assume I am leaving soon, though I am not sure where to next?" He ended the statement as a question, turning back to Jim.

"We check in to the Capital Hotel at 4:00 this afternoon," Jim announced. "You are obviously walking around and eating, so no need to stay here taking up space in a busy hospital."

"Well the beds will be more comfortable," Artie said, looking around the room of friends, "and there will be more room for parties and drinking wine."

"But what about this little dear one?" Dorothy asked, her face worried. "Does Dr. Mary know what will become of her?"

Artie shrugged, "the nurse tells me this happens often. They take in women that have no families, who live in group homes in the city. Sometimes the mothers don't survive and the babies go to an orphanage. I am sure she will be adopted. She seems healthy."

Dorothy looked sadly into her husband's face, "oh, dear, to think of this little one in a friendless orphanage."

Jeremy patted her knee, "we have fine establishments in the city. And a good family will adopt her quickly, I am sure."

"Does the baby have a name?" Melinda asked. All eyes turned to Artemus. He shook his head and shrugged again.

"Maybe we could name her then?" Marlita said, looking at the others. The girls suddenly all spoke at once, all suggesting their favorite names. Dorothy chimed in with family names. Jim rolled his eyes at the ceiling as Artemus and Jeremy laughed at the excited conversation.

"You know," Artie said, interrupting the chatter and looking at his partner, "you should name her, James. You were the first one to feed her. The honor should go to you."

The girls all turned to him, gushing with questions of why did you feed her and what is your favorite baby name? Dorothy added what is your mother's name to the mix of voices. Jim backed up a step and glared at his partner, silently saying I will get you back for this.

"I don't have a favorite baby name and I don't care what you call her," he finally protested, holding his hands up to stop the conversation. "Wait for someone to adopt her. They can name her."

"It would be easier to have a name on the paperwork," Jeremy added, "besides I have a great name to suggest." Everyone turned to him and paused, "Jaime," he announced. "It's the female version of James so I think it's appropriate."

Everyone nodded in agreement as Jim's face turned red. "Why not Artemus?"

"Nooooo," Artie said, "Jaime would be much easier to go through life with. Trust me."

"Well," Dorothy said, "That settles it. We shall name her Jaime and start the adoption process this afternoon." Jeremy's mouth dropped open as everyone burst out laughing.

"Looks like you have an even dozen now, buddy," Jim said, slapping a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Besides what's one more mouth to feed?" He leaned over and kissed Dorothy on the cheek again. "Congratulations! And you too Miss Jamie Pike," he added, looking at the baby. The infant blew bubbles of milk at him and wiggled her fingers in obvious delight.

"So tell me about your day, James," Artemus said, as he picked up the basket of food. It was very heavy and he placed it on a knee as Jim walked back to the small table to join his partner. The voices of the secretaries faded away through the open window as the group walked down the outside staircase to return to work. "You know what my excitement has been. I hope you had something more substantial happen."

"Because recovering from an explosion and fire isn't important enough?" Jim said, chuckling. He pulled a chair over to the table and sat across from his partner. He looked down at the baby, wrapped in the soft blanket, fast asleep in the cradle. "And taking care of a new infant," he added, incredulously. He wondered for the hundredth time how his friend managed to know how to do practically everything.

"You know what I mean," Artie said. He dropped a small tin box on the table and tried to pry it open with one hand. "How is the train? Are the workers there now? Did you find the other gadget we forgot? Did you discover any witnesses to the explosion?" He paused as Jim sat back in the wooden chair, laughing at the varied list of subjects. "Here," Artie snapped, pushing the box over to him. "Could you please open that? I can't manage that lid with one hand."

Jim held the box and pried off the cover. Peeking inside, his stomach rumbled in protest. "Pie," he said, pushing it closer to his friend.

Artie looked inside, "I think that might be cheesecake; one of Sarducci's specialties. " He set it aside and handed Jim a larger box.

"Maybe they just brought you desserts," Jim said, "I wouldn't put it past them. I cannot believe how thin those women can be considering what they eat." He opened the box and handed it back, "no, looks like a healthy salad." His empty stomach grumbled again. "Got any more?"

Artie handed him the basket. "There is a large box in the bottom. I will let you take it out. I hate to drop it and spill my lunch."

Jim grasped the box with both hands and let the empty basket drop to the floor. It landed with a thud and both men turned to look at the sleeping baby but she never stirred. Artie reached down to the cradle to push onto the edge; it started gently rocking.

Jim opened the tin and looked inside. "I have no idea what that is," he said, staring with wonder. The food, covered in melted cheese, smelled of tomato sauce and garlic, the spices strong enough to make his nose crinkle. "It looks good though and smells even better." He looked up to see Artie watching him, the dark eyes glaring in anger.

"You never stopped to eat today, did you?" he said in disgust.

"I'm fine. I will eat eventually. This is your food," Jim said, pushing the larger tin across the small table. It crowded the other two containers. "I mostly just tired. You eat; I'm going to take a nap anyway."

"Oh, no," Artie said, folding his arms awkwardly, since one was still wrapped in bandages, "not a bite unless you eat half with me." Jim started to protest and Artie continued, "No, my Great Aunt Maud would roll over in her grave if she knew I was eating in front of someone else."

The two men stared at each other and Jim finally relented, sighing, "Fine, I split it with you." Artie pointed at the shelf behind him and Jim turned to see a pile of plates and silverware. He stood up and walked over, grumbling, "it's bad enough arguing with you. I certainly can't argue with Aunt Maud." He sat back down and added plates to the crowded table. Jim picked the two tins up and split the meal, secretly grateful for his friend's generosity. He knew the food had come from one of Artie's favorite restaurants and the secretaries would have had to travel half way across the city to obtain the food. "Now I will owe the secretaries a favor too," Jim winked.

"Ya, sure," Artie said, looking worried, "but you can't pay them back until after I am finished paying my debts, and that could take a while. Especially with Marlita," he said, saying something in French.

Jim laughed, "I love her name," he agreed, "Marlita. It flows off the tongue. Too bad she didn't bring that wine though, I could use a drink." He sat back, dropping the fork on the table. His plate was empty and he rubbed his full stomach. "That food is filling. Good, but filling. I won't be able to move all afternoon."

"You said you were planning on sleeping all afternoon anyway,'" Artie said. He looked at the dessert, "I think that will have to wait until later. But what did you find out today? You never answered my list of questions."

Jim thought for a minute, trying to remember where it had all started. "Well, let me give you the short version. Starting at the rail yard, the train was being torn apart by a gang of workmen that screamed at me in, I think, Italian," Artie rolled his eyes, knowing Jim would not have been able to understand a word that the men had said. "So I left them and visited with the yardmaster, Drake," he added, staring at the ceiling as he yawned. "This man's son is the witness I was looking for. Nothing like a young, curious, and observant lad hanging around, watching every move of unsuspecting adults. He described a delivery wagon and a man, who he watched came to the back door of the train car with a box." He looked at Artie now, "Do you remember receiving a box from a delivery man? He was dressed in a black uniform with gold and red trim. It was a small box," Jim said, holding his hands trying to duplicate what the boy had shown him. He watched his partner, the dark eyes narrowed in thought. Artie just shook his head slowly.

Jim sighed but continued. "Then I rode around the city looking for the delivery wagon with this colored paint scheme; black with gold and red. It took a few hours but I finally spotted one. I followed it back to a large warehouse where it entered the side doorway. I went in the front," he paused, yawning again. His partner waved impatiently for him to continue.

Jim glared at him, his eyelids dropping sleepily, as he started again. "I tried to get into the back of the building but it was busy with men carrying supplies. They seemed a little suspicious of me watching them so I went around to the front. It was a large room stacked with various shipping containers and packing material." He paused as Artie watched him. "Well, anyway, that was it. I am going back tonight to look around. At ten, to be exact."

"At ten o'clock?" Artie asked suspiciously. "Why? What happens at ten?"

"Well," Jim smiled, slowly, his eyes closing. "That's when the pretty receptionist gets done work and they close the building."

"And you are meeting her?" Artie laughed, "Blond or Brunette?"

"Red head," Jim sighed, still smiling, eyes still shut.

"And why do you need to meet her? " Artie prodded, "Wouldn't it be easier to just wait until everyone leaves and then go inside?"

Jim opened his eyes to give his partner his best innocent look, "But she's going to unlock the door for me."

"Oh, sure, sure," Artie said, nodding in agreement, "because you forgot how to pick a lock."

"And," Jim added, "I thought she might show me where the ledgers and log books are."

"Of course," Artie agreed again, "because it can be so terribly difficult to find those overly large, flat ledger books usually left on the counter or even on top of a desk." He tisked tisked at his partner. "And I thought you just wanted to play with a red-head."

"I am going to be working to figure out this mystery," Jim said, sternly, "And you are not helping. You are not coming with me. You are not following me. This proves they were after you and we both need to know why before you go out running around town again."

"Did I say I was going to follow you," Artie said, now doing his best innocent act. "Did I say anything about putting on a disguise and going into the warehouse because you disappeared and needed help getting out before crazy people murdered you?" Jim crossed his arms and stared back, the blue eyes looking worried. He shook his head no, obviously not giving in this time. "All will be fine," Artie agreed, "just as long as you don't disappear tonight." He winked at his partner, both knowing their agreement was out of both of their hands.


	14. Chapter 14

Train Wreck: Chapter 14

"Dammit, Artie," Jim swore, though he was smiling when he climbed to his feet. Jeremy and Steve, sitting nearby burst into laughter as Jim lost his patience again. Artie just snorted, but watched his partner curiously. They were all relaxing now after having a late supper in the private suite Jim had reserved at the Capitol Hotel.

Jim pushed the supper dishes to the side of the suite's dining room table. Remnants of steak and seafood spilled onto the carpet. Jeremy rose silently to pick up bits of food and return them to the plates and get a closer look at the demonstration. Jim picked up a small box, holding writing implements, and slammed it onto the table across from his partner. Standing in front of the box, looking down, he continued, "You received a box from a delivery man, dressed in black with gold and red pin stripes. You brought it to our table in the varnish car and opened it with," he paused, reaching behind him into the air, "the scissors we keep in the drawer behind the table. I have seen you do it a hundred times."

Steve laughed, shaking his head, "you two argue more than my parents. It's like you're married."

Jim paused, picking up a large pair of scissors from the table, turning to glare at the young man. He could hear Jeremy stifle laughter behind him and didn't dare look at his partner. "Don't even go there." Turning back to the box, he made movements as if he was opening the top. He set the scissors onto the table and used both hands, as if opening box flaps.

"Wait," Jeremy said, "he only burned his left hand". He put his left hand on the box near Jim's. "Where are your burns? Top or bottom?"

"Top of my hand," Artie said, watching his friends closely, "And the top of my arm and up, over my shoulder."

Jim paused, thinking, moving his left hand trying to get the angle correct. He shook his head in frustration, "What the hell were you doing?" He bumped the table and the scissors fell off, one pointed end stabbing the top of his bare foot as it dropped to the floor. "Owe," he yelped, grabbing the top of his foot. "Dammit!"

"Wait," Artie said, standing now to walk over. He stared at the scissors, open on the carpet, and Jim's foot, his eyes lost in thought. Then he pointed at the top of his right, bare foot. "I have a sore hole in the top of that foot."

"Well so do I, now," Jim snarled, standing on his foot again. "Obviously you dropped the scissors. That's why I found them still on the floor after the fire was put out." He leaned over to pick them up, his left hand still on the box. He felt Jeremy's firm grip on his shoulder, preventing him from rising.

"Jim," Jeremy said softly, "that's it. Look at how you're standing." Steve stood up and walked over to study Jim as Artie backed up a step to get a better view. "Your left hand is on the box. If the explosion happened, it would burn the top of your hand and up your arm, because you are leaning over so much. "

"And the table," Jim said, looking up at the underneath surface of the top, "is protecting my face from the blast."

Artie turned his body and held his arm out, bending slightly to imitate his partner. "I was standing like this," he said, thinking out loud. "I must have opened the box flaps without looking at what I was doing. But the side of my face, and my eye, was also burned slightly so I must not have been leaning down that far."

Jim stood up as Artie straightened slowly. "Good thing you weren't standing up when you opened that box. It would have blown your face off." He glared at his friend, unable to say anything else, knowing how close it had been.

Artie grinned at him, "good thing I used the scissors and then dropped them. If I had used a knife…" He shrugged, looking down at the small box, his eyes lost in thought again. His hand reached out to rest on the top. "There is something important about that box that I am not remembering,"

"Do you remember getting it?" Jim asked. "The delivery man? Tall, dark mustache?"

Artie just shrugged again but continued to stare at the box, a forefinger sliding across the surface. Jim sighed and turned back to the older agent. "Well it doesn't matter. We know what happened. Maybe tonight I can learn more at the warehouse." He walked to the door of the suite as Jeremy and Steve moved outside into the hallway. Jim paused in the doorway, whispering, "Hey, if I run late getting back tonight, don't let this crazy guy go searching for me. I want him to stay hidden until I figure this out. Someone tried to kill him once. They don't get another chance at him."

Jeremy reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "We'll keep an eye on him."

Jim walked into his bedroom of the suite and started to pull out evening clothes. With the door open to the common living room, he continued to speak to his partner as he pulled his shirt off over his head, ignoring the buttons. "I thought I would head over to that warehouse and watch for a while, just as it gets dark." He peeked out to see his partner sitting back down with a stack of papers. Jim unbuttoned his pants and pulled them off. Standing in his underwear, he looked at his face in the mirror, rubbing his palm over his chin. Stubble was appearing and his skin felt slightly felt rough. Sighing, knowing how it would feel to the red head, he dumped water into a basin and lathered his face. "When I retire," he muttered, "I am growing a beard." He slowly and carefully shaved his face, ending with his chin. He wiped his face with a towel and tossed it on the cupboard. Turning back to the bed, he shook out his black evening pants. "What are you working on out there," he called. He stepped into the pants and pulled them up, closing the button fly as he walked back to the doorway. "Is that the report that burned up?"

"Yes," Artie said, opening the box and pulling out a pen. "I am starting from scratch."

Jim grabbed at a coat and dug into an inside pocket. He pulled a folded piece of paper and, grabbing his clean shirt, and walked out to the table. "I forgot to show this to you," he said, handing it to Artie. "I tried to fill it out with Charles while in his office but he was driving me crazy." He pulled on his shirt and fixed the buttons while watching his friend review the sheet. "It's those boxes to check off. If it was a blank page where I could write what happened, I could finish it. But those choices don't match what happened."

"You told Charles what happened?" Artie said, reading and talking at the same time.

"I said there was an explosion and fire on the train," Jim said, now shoving shirt tails into his waistband, "and he wanted to know what the train hit; another train? Ran off the rails?" He took a deep breath, "When I explained that the train was parked in its siding, he asked how did we have a train accident while not moving? I didn't even mention the boiler needing work. I figured he would think that's what exploded." Jim took a deep breath, leaned both hands on the table, and let the air out slowly. He looked up to see the brown eyes laughing at him.

"Partner, you're trying to give him too much information," Artie said, "He doesn't give a damn how the train was damaged. He just files his paperwork and pays the bills for the agency." He smoothed out the page, "I'll fill it out. Don't worry. It will give me something more to do tonight while you run around with a crazy red-headed woman. You know what my Great Aunt Maud always said about red-headed women?"

"Ya, I know," Jim said, smiling now. "And that's why I like them." He winked and walked back into his room. Hollering out again, he continued, "and don't wait up for me. Just get some rest." He pulled on a deep blue tie with silver threads. He looked at the mirror as he pulled on a black coat. The only light cloth showing was the top edge of his white shirt collar. "I need darker shirts," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair to comb it. He turned to walk out of the room, spinning on his right leg. His knee shot pain into his hip and he staggered into the door frame with a gasp of pain.

"How's the knee," Artie asked without looking up.

"Fine," Jim snapped, "I knew I should have dragged you through that fire. Damn, still feels like there's glass in it," he said, rubbing his pantleg.

"Well, you'll know better next time," Artie chuckled as he wrote on the form. He glanced up at the clock. "You leaving now?"

Jim looked at the clock and back to his partner. "Don't sit there and try to figure out how long it will take me to get to that warehouse. You have no idea what direction I am going in." He stared at his friend's head as his partner avoided his eyes. "Maybe I should take your boots with me," he added. Artie snorted, still keeping his eyes down. Jim remembered the sleeve gun and grabbed it up from the table nearby where he had left it out. He took his right arm out of his coat and pushed his sleeve up. He slid the leather straps of the sleeve gun under his shirtsleeve and added the Derringer. Then he pushed the shirtsleeve down, fixed the cufflink, and pulled the coat back on. "All right, I'm out of here."

Artie looked up at this, his dark eyes deep with worry. "Sure you don't want to take someone with you? Steve could use the training and seems pretty tough."

"I'm fine," Jim said, walking to the door. He grabbed his hat from the rack by the door. With a last nod, he slipped outside, shutting the door, with a "Good Night."

The door shut. Artie sat, listening to his friend's steps disappear down the hall. He looked at the clock, noting the time and marking it onto a sheet of paper. He pulled a map of the city out from under the pile of papers where he had hidden it. Measuring with a small ruler and calculating speed of travel, he drew a circle around the hotel. "Dammit, James," he muttered, rubbing his sore left eye. The suite seemed empty, the only sound coming from the ticking of the wall clock.

After watching the building from different angles, checking numerous doors and windows, Jim was satisfied that the building was empty in the back work areas. He had watched men leaving, many with lunch pails in their hands, obviously heading for home after a long day at work. The last man to leave, walking alone, was huge. Jim was reminded of Voltaire, since this man appeared to be as tall, but he was also very broad. Jim sighed with relief, watching him walk away, thankful the man was no longer inside.

The office had a few lanterns burning and he had seen the receptionist moving around the large front room. He suspected there were offices between the front room and the back since there seemed to be space between the dividing walls. He glanced at his pocket watch and saw that it was ten o'clock.

Jim stepped silently to the front door. He looked through the decorative glass panel and watched the woman standing again at the front desk. He turned the handle but found it locked. The woman looked at the door and walked quickly to it, stealing a glance over her shoulder as she moved. At the door, she moved her hand and a loud click sounded as a bolt was turned. Jim opened the door and stepped in, quickly shutting the door behind him.

"You came," the woman whispered. She stood very close, looking up at him, only a few inches shorter than he was. "I wasn't sure you would return."

Jim purred softly, "why wouldn't I?" He wrapped an arm around her waist. "Who would miss a chance to be with such a beautiful woman?" She ran her hands slowly up his chest, her eyes moving over his clothing. "Are we alone?"

She smiled, tilting her head back. Her red hair was loose now, hanging in thick waves around her shoulders. Her gaze looked in approval from his clothing to his hair and finally to his eyes. "Do you trust me," she breathed, her lips coming closer to his.

"No," he whispered, leaning down, kissing her. His arms wrapped around her waist, crushing her body to his. He felt her hands moving over his shoulders, pulling him even closer. He felt a tug at the back of his collar and he pulled his head back, looking down at her, as he felt his necktie pull away.

"You won't need that," she breathed, dropping the tie to the floor. The buttons on the back strap clicked as they hit the hard wooden floor. She pulled him down to her into another kiss, one hand wrapping around his shoulders and the other hand sliding up his neckline into his hair. She pulled at his thick hair, her fingernails digging into his scalp.

Jim tried to pull his head away, trying to remember what he wanted to ask her. "We need to talk," he managed to say. He slid his lips down the side of her neck. She leaned back, allowing him a better view of the low neckline of her dress. "I wanted to ask about your work her." He ran the fingers of one hand through her long hair. He paused to look at her face. Her eyes were open, watching him. "I need to know more about this business."

"Really?" She smiled, one hand sliding forward. Her fingers quickly opened the buttons of his shirt and vest, moving their way down to expose his chest. She slipped her hand underneath the cloth, moving it over his warm skin. She moved her hips closer to his and leaned in to kiss his neck. "I don't think you really want to talk."

Jim swallowed, trying to calm his body so that he could think. "I want to look out back in the warehouse." He felt another hand move around his waist, just under the edge of his jacket. "I want to see…." He paused, feeling his shirt tail pull from his pants and the hand slide underneath the cloth.

The woman leaned back, sliding her lips up his neck again, "what a coincidence," she whispered, licking his ear, "I want to take you out to the warehouse and look everywhere too."

Jim continued, gritting his teeth against the sensation of the woman's hand sliding up his spine. "I want to look inside some containers." He stopped as both of her hands were now underneath his clothing. He twisted his face, kissing her again, his hands pulling at her dress and hair.

Suddenly he felt a strong slap across his cheek, knocking him backwards. He lost his grip of her as she pushed against his chest, propelling herself away from him. Stunned and completely surprised, he froze, staring at her. She backed quickly away from him as another man stepped to her side. A man with a long, thin mustache holding a revolver with the barrel pointed Jim's his chest.

"Good evening," the man said, smiling. "I see you are enjoying my wife's company."

"Wife?" Jim looked at the woman, who lowered her eyes now and stepped behind her husband. "She had me fooled," Jim added, smiling back and nodding to the man. "My compliments."

The man smiled again, those his eyes were glaring now. "Rose?" he asked, without looking at her.

"He has a gun hidden in his right sleeve," she whispered, "and a knife in a pocket in the back of his coat, just under the collar. I couldn't find anything else."

"And you searched me very thoroughly," Jim said, "The most pleasant search I have ever had."

"Enough," the man snapped. "My name is Michael Stubbin. You don't remember me, though, do you Mr. West. You will remember my father."

"Will I?" Jim was looking around the front room, holding his hands out to his sides. He felt foolish with his vest pulled open and his shirt tails hanging out. "Why should I?" He looked back at Stubbin, who was still holding the gun.

"You put him in jail," the man said, "but he was recently released. I saw you the other day, going into that fancy train of yours and I told him about it. He was so eager to pay you back."

Jim arched an eyebrow, "revenge? I was hoping it was something more interesting than that." He paused as the door behind him opened and shut. He sensed someone walk up quietly behind him. He turned slightly, glancing over his right shoulder, and saw the giant. He turned back to see Stubbin laughing at him.

"I think it just got more interesting," Stubbin said. He nodded toward the giant, "that's Tiny, my assistant. He is a special employee here. He is very strong and does whatever I tell him to do." Jim rolled his eyes and stole a glance at Rose. The woman had looked up when the giant entered and then looked back at Jim. She had a guilty look to her now, standing with her head down, her red hair hanging around her face, hiding her eyes. "Are you alone tonight, Mr. West?" Jim nodded. "Where is your friend from the train?"

"He is resting this evening," Jim said, relieved that he didn't have to worry about Artie in what would probably be a tough fight soon.

"Not at a hospital though," Stubbin said. He laughed at Jim's surprised expression. "Rose checked all the hospitals, didn't you, darling?" He nudged the woman with an elbow. "She has been searching all over the city and can't find your friend anywhere."

"He isn't in a hospital," Jim said, unable to keep his anger out of his voice. "He is hidden outside of Washington. You'll never find him."

"Oh, we'll find him, eventually," Stubbin said. "My father always said never leave lose ends. You see, that's all you are, Mr. West. A loose end." He laughed as Jim's face flushed.

"I grow tired of your useless conversation. Is your father coming out here or is he frightened of me?" Jim nodded toward a large framed mirror that hung behind the counter; a mirror that would look more appropriate in a dance hall. "Or does he just like to watch through the mirror?"

Jim saw the man nod to the giant behind him. Before he could move away, the giant grabbed his shoulders and pulled him backwards, off balance. His coat was ripped down shoulders and twisted together at his wrists, pinning his hands behind him. Tiny held him fast, tipped over slightly backwards.

Stubbin darted forward to yank open his sleeve and pull the derringer from the sleeve holster. The cuff link pinged as it hit the wooden floor. Jim kicked at him, twisting his sore right leg. The young man easily stepped behind him to avoid the boots. He laughed, sucker punching Jim in the side of the head and then digging at the coat for the throwing knife. He pulled it out and pushed the sharp tip into the side of Jim's neck. "Thanks for the gun and the knife," he snickered. Jim glared at him, still held awkwardly off balance.

The sound of a door opening and shutting drifted into the room from far away. Then footsteps sounded in the hallway and finally a tall, gaunt man entered. His face was long and narrow with deep lines. Thin whips of grey hair hung around his face. He paused on the edge of the room, staring at Jim. "You," a dry, high pitched voice said, "You are the cause of so much pain, so much failure. You and the other agent."

Jim stared at the man, trying to remember him from a past case. He finally shook his head, "I'm sorry but you seem to have me at a disadvantage. I just don't remember you."

"It's been a few years but not that many," the older man said, walking slowly toward Jim. He held up a hand and long, boney fingers reached toward Jim. Nervously, he tried to lean back but felt the solid body of the giant behind him. Thankfully the old man stopped a few feet away. "But not that many years. You see I looked different before…before you came and caused the pain."

Jim cleared his throat, "Could you tell me your name, sir?" He felt oddly curious and revolted at the same time. Causing pain was a common thing to do in this work, he thought, but he usually didn't feel guilt after since he was always after the worst murderers and it was usually kill or be killed.

"My name is Marcus Stubbin," the old man said, "but you knew me as the Engraver."

"Ah," Jim said, nodding. "I do remember you. About five years ago? You were helping a man become wealthy by making him his own money and he was using that money to start an organized crime syndicate that tried to take over Washington D.C." He smiled, "and you went to prison. I remember the sentence was ten years, not five."

The old man laughed, "well prisons are so crowded now and I was a model prisoner. Being so old, I couldn't do much fighting with those younger fellows." His smile disappeared, "and my lawyer appealed to a judge regarding your entrapment of me! You and your partner, that sneaky, skinny, old man."

Jim paused, remembering suddenly that it had been Jeremy Pike that had helped him on that case while Artemus was assigned temporarily to the Washington office. And now the man had pursued his revenge on the wrong agent!

"All right," Jim snapped, suddenly tired and annoyed with the situation. He had a beautiful but untrustworthy women, a crazy man with a pistol pointed at him again, and a giant breathing on the back of his neck. He had lost some weapons but not all, he thought, if he could only break the grasp of the giant behind him. Stalling for time, he tried to relax his arms, hoping the strong grasp on his wrists would relax in time. "You are out of jail and appear to own a business. Why did you blow up my train?"

"My son told you; Revenge," the man said, "I will hunt down all of you agents. I was imprisoned, my health ruined, my career ruined…"

"Your career was to make fake money and if you do it again, you'll go back to prison," Jim said, his voice rising. "And I am the only agent involved in that case. You attacked my assistant and he didn't even help me with the investigation of you and your friend years ago."

"What do you mean an assistant?" The old man snapped back. "Everyone knows Secret Service agents travel in pairs."

Jim interrupted, "we are in pairs because one is the agent and the other is just the assistant. The guy you injured is not an agent so you can leave him alone now. He just does what I tell him; looks up information, maps out locations, writes the reports. He does all the boring work that an agent doesn't want to do. If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't even work for the Secret Service. So you can forget about him." Jim leaned closer, his voice rising, as the old man stepped back. "If you want revenge, I am right here. But leave him out of it!"

"No," the man yelled back, stepping backwards toward his son. "No, he will be killed, as you will be. We have been searching for him; for both of you. Tell us where he is!" Jim shook his head, silently glaring at the old man. The old man looked to his son, who nodded again to the giant. Jim felt himself being dragged backwards toward the back warehouse.


	15. Chapter 15

Train Wreck: Chapter 15

Artemus threw down the fountain pen and looked up again at the wall clock. Midnight. The ticking of the clock was wearing on his nerves, almost like it was laughing at him for worrying. It was also the only sound in the dimly lit room though sounds of the city nightlife drifted in through the open windows. Artie stretched his sore shoulder muscles and stood, walking slowly to the window. He leaned against the ledge and watched people walking in the street, appearing and disappearing as they moved past the lantern on the sidewalk below him. His heart leaped as he saw a small, thin man approaching the hotel lobby, dressed in black, but as the figure passed the light, he could see it wasn't his partner. He looked again at the clock and estimated mentally the travel time to the ware house but he had no real idea where the business was. And how do you estimate time spent with a red-headed woman?

Irritated and exhausted, Artemus gave up and decided to have a hot bath. Grabbing a thick, white robe, provided by the hotel, he walked into the bathroom, situated between the two bedrooms. The three rooms were off one side of the long sitting room, one of the fanciest suites on the top floor of the Capital. Artie dropped the robe on a pile of white towels on a sideboard and paused, staring at the tub. The large, deep bathtub had a tall, vertical pipe reaching higher than his head with a wide multi-holed metal fixture hanging off the end. Artie's curious eyes studied the pipe, noting that it was attached to the tub's plumbing. A metal ring was attached to the top of the pipe and a lace curtain hung down, reaching into the tub. He reached down to turn the water on, seeing the usual hot and cold handles, and the water flowed into the tub. However he saw a third handle between them. Turning it, the water came out of the pipe over his head, to throw water inside the curtain.

"Hmmm," Artie said, holding his hand and arm in the warm water spraying down. Intrigued, he removed his shirt and pants and stepped into the tub. He stood under the spray of hot water and immediately felt his muscles relaxing. He turned to face the spray, rubbing the hot water into his face. He turned again to let the water beat onto his shoulders. "This is wonderful," he breathed. He tiled his head back and felt the water soak into his thick hair. Opening his eyes, he picked up a new bar of soap and began rubbing his chest. Too late, he noticed the bandages on his left arm and hand were soaked. "ooops," he grinned, wondering if water would be bad for the burns.

Jim heard the soft shuffling of cloth nearby and a long sigh. He tried to open his eyes but his eyelids seemed stuck shut. He tried to rub at his eyes but he couldn't seem to move his arms. Yanking, he felt metal dig into his wrists behind his back and heard the chains rattle. Remembering, he lay still and listened again. Silence. Then a soft voice, "are you awake, mister?"

Jim slowly raised his head, feeling his left cheek release from the floor from where his skin was stuck. He pulled his body into a sitting position, leaning his back against a wall. He stretched his legs out in front of him.

"You don't look so good," the woman's voice whispered.

"Wasn't that the point," Jim muttered back. "Your husband doesn't seem to like my looks." He slowly opened his right eye. The left stayed stubbornly shut. "Is he really your husband?"

Rose shrugged. She was sitting on a low bench on the other side of the small room. "He bought me a few years ago from my Ma. I came to the city with him and his Pa a few months ago."

"He bought you?" Jim asked, confused. "He paid your Mother money for you? That doesn't sound like a marriage. Did you stand in front of a Priest or Minister?"

"Don't think so," Rose said, shaking her head slowly. "He just told me we was married and I was to stay with him. Them weddings is for rich people anyway."

"Rose," Jim said slowly. "You shouldn't be with these men. They are dangerous and they don't treat you right. A real husband wouldn't let other men put their hands on you." He watched her look nervously at the closed door nearby. "I know I wouldn't if you were my wife." The woman turned sharply to look at him, surprised. "Who's out there? Your husband?"

"No," Rose said, looking at her feet, avoiding his steady look. "Tiny."

"Of course he is," Jim muttered to himself, slowly stretching his cold muscles. The floor was hard, wooden planks and he had become stiff. The beating hadn't been too bad, he had had worse. He didn't think anything was broken, just bruised.

"I didn't really look for him," Rose whispered, looking up at him. Jim glanced over at her again, surprise clear on his bloody face. "Your friend. I didn't really go to the hospitals. I just went to the parks and walked. Then I told them I didn't find him." She sighed, "I didn't really know what he looked like and I didn't want to ask to see burn patients." She shook all over, her hands hugging her stomach. "I'm glad he didn't get killed in the fire."

Jim's eyes narrowed, anger building inside him, remembering his partner when he first carried him out of the train; how he thought he had lost him. "If he had died in that fire," he said slowly, his voice a growl, "I wouldn't be here to arrest your husband and the others." Rose recoiled slightly from him, at the intense hatred in his voice. "It's going to get messy now. You should leave." The woman stared at him for a heartbeat and then climbed to her feet. She quietly opened the door and left him alone.

Jim sat up straighter and leaned forward. He moved his shoulders and hips side to side as his hands pulled the chain underneath his rear end. It dragged along the wood, quietly, with room to spare. He chuckled to himself; the men who had chained his hands were obviously new to this game.

Now with his hands in front of him it was easy to pull a heel off a boot for tools. Grabbing a lock pick, Jim quickly opened the handcuffs. Pushing the heel back on the boot, he remembered his tiny handgun that fit in the other boot heel; he had left it out to dry after oiling it just before the explosion. It was safely on the table in the varnish car's lab instead of with him.

He paused to clear his eyes, wiping a shirt tail over his face. Most of the blood was dry now, making him wonder how long he had been knocked out. He finally soaked the filthy cloth in his mouth to wet it and wiped at his eyes again. Pulling at his skin, he was able to open the left eye too. Blinking, he was relieved to have his sight return in both eyes.

Looking himself over, he thought the only damage was bloody face and head. He could feel blood caked into his hair and down the back of his neck. He remembered how the giant had held him while the younger man had beaten him, laughing at him and calling him pretty boy. Jim grimaced as he tightly wrapped the chain in his hands, keeping the length between them long enough to wrap around the giant's neck. He climbed stiffly to his feet and walked silently to the door and peered out through the space Rose had left. The giant was sitting in a low-backed, wooden chair facing the warehouse, watching the workers through a window. Apparently watching the door, as a guard should be doing, was too boring, Jim thought.

Stepping closer, studying how the man's thick neck joined his shoulders, Jim paused. Taking a deep breath, he flipped the chain down over the man's face and pulled back as hard as he possibly could. The giant burst to his feet, as Jim suspected he would, with his hands going to his throat. Jim pulled his arms closer to his chest and jumped his knees onto the man's back as the chair toppled over. The giant twisted, trying to throw Jim off his shoulders. Swaying from side to side, the man staggered across the room.

Jim was slammed against a wall, his shoulder blades digging into the rough wood. The giant leaned forward, trying to throw the weight over his head but Jim held on. He gritted his teeth and pulled even harder on the chain, feeling the links tearing at his palms. The giant has to stop breathing, Jim thought, holding on desperately, as his back was slammed into the wall again.

Finally the man staggered out into the middle of the room, leaning one way and then the other, his arms flailing uselessly out to the side. The man leaned backwards too far and collapsed down, taking Jim with him, onto the hard floor. The giant crushed Jim's knees and legs, driving his lower back into the floor. Air was forced out of Jim's lungs as the giant's weight compressed his chest. He fell backwards, the chain flying out of his double grip as his head cracked onto the wooden planks. The room went dark as sounds of running footsteps approached.

"How the hell did you get out of those handcuffs?!" The younger Stubbin's voice asked, as if from a great distance. Jim felt a hand on his chin and then a slap across his face. Jim's eyelids fluttered but his eyes rolled up into his head and then even sounds disappeared.

Artie looked at the box he had just taken from a delivery man. He chuckled at the outlandish outfit the man had worn combined with the slick, thin mustache. I need to remember that look, he thought, for future use. He gently shook the box as he walked across the varnish car. The object inside clunked faintly and he realized it must be their recent order, though no return company address was on the paper wrapping. A soft breeze was blowing through the open windows bringing with it the sounds of his partner's voice as he spoke with Cobb about the needed repairs. He placed the box on the table and reached behind him for the scissors. Pausing, before cutting it open, his eyes went to the words "To Mr. James West" on the top of the box. He thought again about waiting for Jim to open it but he needed the ammunition die set they had ordered and didn't want to bother him, knowing how stressed he was about the costly train repairs. He cut the top open, setting the scissors onto the table, and started to open the box when the scissors fell and stabbed him in the top of the foot.

The rememberance of sharp pain woke Artemus from the dream. He leaped to his feet, from the chair he had been sleeping in, and staggered to the suite's table. Gasping to catch his breath and shaking his head to clear it, he moaned, "Oh, no," he said. "It's Jim, dammit, they were after him all along." He looked at the wall clock. "God, no," he moan again, sick with worry. The clock was past six am. "No red head would keep him out until daylight." He staggered to his room and began gathering clothes. He pulled off his bathrobe and pulled on his pants. He was just picking up his shirt when he heard the door open to the suite.

"Thank God!" Artemus pulled the shirt on and walked into the living room again, almost faint with relief. "Jim, where have you …" the words died on his lips as he froze. A man, wearing a waiter's outfit was standing in the open doorway, his hands on a push cart laden with covered dishes and a tall, silver coffee pot.

"Begging your pardon," the man said, nodding, "The door was open so I came in." He nodded again, repeatedly clearing his voice. "Good morning, sir. I have your breakfast. The kitchen manager asked me to bring it up sharply at ."

"Of course," Artemus said, trying to regain his composure when he felt more like screaming in frustration. "I am late getting dressed. Thank you for bringing it. It appears that I overslept."

The man pushed the cart to the table and noticed the dirty supper dishes. "Oh, I am sorry," he said quietly, fumbling to remove dirty dishes and put the new dishes on the table. "I was probably supposed to pick these up last night. I apologize," he said again, knocking over a small pitcher of milk. He grabbed it up and wiped at the liquid.

Suspicious, Artemus stood behind the man and looked him over. The man's hands were thick and callused and his serving manners atrocious. His observant eyes noticed the rough clothing showing beneath the waiter's apron and then paused to study the heavy leather, lug soled, work boots. Artemus felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he backed away, toward a chair where Jim had placed his holster. He slowly drew the pistol from its leather, feeling the "AG" on the grip against his palm. This man was no waiter, he thought, hiding the gun behind him as the stranger turned to face him.


	16. Chapter 16

Artie circled the table, keeping the large piece of furniture between him and the stranger. The actor inside him quietly watched for clues as to his real identity. This is no waiter, he thought, but is he an actor pretending to be one? Or a killer trying to gain access to the suite in search of Jim? Playing along, trying to inspire trust and knowing people usually reveal more than they mean to while talking, he continued the casual conversation. "No need to be nervous here, my good man. I am good with keeping secrets." He winked at the man as he sat behind the table, the revolver just under the edge of the tablecloth, the barrel pointed, unseen, at the stranger.

The man twisted his damp towel in his hands nervously, his lips muttered and his eyes wouldn't meet Artie's gaze. The agent, always careful, but curious also, waited for something to happen. The man seemed to be working himself up to a decision. Artie's grip on his handgun tightened as he saw the man's jaw set and his shoulders square. The man appeared to be gaining his resolve for his opening act.

"I'm no waiter," the man finally snapped angrily. "I won't trouble you further with my incompetence," he said bitterly, spitting the words out.

Artie started, he had expected an act of violence from some secret killer or at least a story to continue the subterfuge. "What do you mean?" He was still curious, but needed to make his way out of the hotel to search for Jim. His eyes flickered to the wall clock.

The man threw the hand towel onto the cart, huffing, "I just started this job yesterday. I thought I would be a maintenance man not prancing around in fancy clothes serving food." He nodded to Artemus, "well, anyway, I hope you enjoy your day, sir."

Amused now, Artie quietly put the gun in a chair next to him, still hidden, and leaned over to grab his boots. "We all do jobs we don't like, temporarily. If I may guess your normal occupation?" The man paused, watching Artie pull the tall boots on. "Dock worker? Long shoreman?"

The man broke into a smile, "close, sir," he chuckled, "warehouse manager. Just down the street, as a matter of fact."

Artie stood up, his heart skipping a beat. Trying to keep his voice casual, he asked, "really? Where abouts?"

The man pointed loosely," just south of here; Waterman street." Artie moved a piece of paper, covered with drawings of plumbing pipes, to quickly glance at a map of the city streets nearby.

"Forgive my curiosity, I am forgetting my manners," Artie said, waving a hand to a chair. "I am convalescing and have been very bored her alone. Please sit and have breakfast with me." What kind of crazy chance was this, Artemus thought to himself. Jim runs himself ragged searching Washington DC for clues and I meet a waiter that worked in a warehouse nearby.

"Oh, I couldn't," the man said, but then looked behind him at the door and then back at the covered dishes; dishes that had been emitting smells of eggs and bacon.

"Oh, come now, my good man," Artie encouraged, "a cup of coffee at least. Entertaining the guests to keep them happy is the work of a good waiter." He leaned over and winked at the man, holding out his hand. "And I promise not to tell the hotel manager." He was relieved to see the man sit slowly in the opposite chair. "The name is Artemus." To his delight, the man shook his hand, smiling and relaxing.

"Leroy," he said, smiling shyly. "Are you sure its ok for a waiter to eat with a guest? I don't know these fancy customs."

"Absolutely," Artie gushed, holding up a bandaged hand. "In fact, I would appreciate the help. I am a bit clumsy lately." He sat back and watched Leroy pour two cups of coffee. With a little more encouragement, Artie had the man spooning out two plates of food. During casual discussions of the weather and the city politics, the food was quickly devoured.

"If you don't mind me asking," Artie said, "why did you leave this warehouse job?"

The man grimaced, sitting back with a cup of hot coffee, and rubbing his full belly, "well," he sighed, "it changed sudden like, for the worst." He took a deep breath and continued, "I worked there for years, moving my way up from delivery to finally being a manager of the warehouse. The owner wanted to sell, move out west." He paused and Artie nodded for him to continue. "I wanted to buy the business but needed time to gather cash. Before I knew it, someone had beaten me to the prize." He shook his head bitterly. "I still had my job and wanted to stay. But.."

"But you didn't like the new owners?" Artie asked.

The man nodded, "more than that, I think they are bad people. Dangerous in fact. I even spoke to the law but they wouldn't even come by to look." He shook his head in obvious disgust.

Artie's eyebrow went up. Leaning forward, whispering conspiratorially, "you saw something?"

Leroy nodded. "Most boxes are transported as usual by the young men working there to various businesses and private homes but a few are packed in secret and only delivered by the owner's son; a sneakier man I never saw. He is tall and thin, with a dark, thin mustache." Artie nodded and waved a hand to continue. "And the old man," Leroy shivered, "is right mean. Bad things were happening. I found boxes of TNT labelled as other things to hide them! What would they want with that anyway? Many good workers quit to get out, scared someone would get hurt. Well I wanted to stay so I told the police!"

Artie nodded, "they paid no attention and you risked yourself to look around!"

Leroy looked down into his hands, suddenly unable to return Artie's gaze. Whispering, he added, "and then the woman," Leroy said, whispering.

"What?" Artie said, surprised. If it's a red-head, then I have hit the jack pot, he thought.

Leroy snorted, "red-headed crazy woman. She would go out back with some of the workman, sometimes when her husband was right there in the warehouse, behind his back". Leroy shook his shoulders, turning worried eyes to Artie. "She asked me once, I said no. After that, I just couldn't stay."

Artie nodded in agreement, his mind racing to the warehouse. He now knew where it was, that it was full of explosives, and guarded by a dangerous husband, a mean old man, and a crazy red-headed woman...and his partner was with them, he was sure of it. Time to join the party, Artie decided, rising. He stuck his hand out, "Leroy, I have no doubt that your work here will be short lived and you will soon be back doing what you enjoy." Leroy rose, surprise clear in his face, and they shook hands. "Let's keep this conversation between us for now. If you could, please bring a carriage around for me. I think a drive in the morning air will do me good." Leroy pushed the cart, laden with empty dishes, into the hall as Artie finished dressing, remembering to grab his revolver.

"Just paint it," Artie yelled down the hallway of the varnish car as he unlocked his bedroom door. He paused in the doorway as he looked at the pile of gadgets covering the bed. "Good thing I am not sleeping here tonight," he muttered, stepping quickly to an open trunk.

A workman hurried toward him, yelling in Italian and shaking a raised fist. Other workman crowded behind him as they all filled the varnish car's hallway. Many other excited voices joined their leader's cries.

Artie turned to look back over his shoulder, yelling in Italian again. "Whatever color it was before! I don't care!" He snapped up a grey wig and his top hat. Turning, he pushed past the men in the hallway. "Just paint the walls the same color as the other walls. I don't need anything different." He turned to close and lock his door and then moved out of the front doorway of the car. The leader followed him outside, still yelling and shaking a fist.

Artie turned on him, snapping with impatience, "Yes, I am authorized to make decisions for the interior repairs. You don't need to talk with anyone else because…" his tirade was interrupted by an explosion inside the train car. Screams of fear came from inside as men poured from the front and back doors. Soon deep red smoke drifted out of the open windows, the new glass coating with red dust, as the lead man turned on the surprised agent. He screamed, stepping back from the train, pointing at his men as they fell to the grass outside. Others rushed forward to help the workmen.

"Oh, that was number twelve," Artie said, smiling and nodding to the leader. "It's fine, it's just colored smoke. They must have fainted from fear," he said, waving his hand as more men collapsed to the ground. "It's an old gag trick, not even knock out gas." With a final "They're fine," he climbed into the waiting carriage.

The younger Stubbin back-handed Jim across the face, knocking him to the floor. Jim's face hit the wooden planks, stunning him. He felt his teeth dig into his lower lip and tasted blood. Stubbin kicked him in the ribs, knocking him onto his back. Leaning down he grabbed Jim's shirt and lifted his head off the floor. Kneeling close, he snarled, "tell us where to find your friend or we will beat you to death."

Jim pulled at his hands, feeling the rough rope burn his wrists. Unable to move, he glared up at Stubbin. Taking a sudden, deep breath, he spit a mouthful of blood into Stubbin's face, covering the man's skin with his bloody spit. "Never," Jim managed to say with swollen lips.

"Bastard!" Stubbin swung his arm back for another strike when his father walked into the room.

"Stop," he said sternly. "This is getting us nowhere. I have a better idea." He walked to Jim and looked down at the bloody heap. He kicked Jim in the shoulder. "There is a Federal building in the city that I have been told is your headquarters for you Secret Service." He snorted, "It wasn't difficult to find. Not very secret, I'd say." Jim glared up at him, keeping silent. "I will send Rose to this place with a message for your friends. I imagine the whole force will come out to rescue you."

Jim could only stare, stone-faced, knowing the other agents would come to the warehouse. It would be difficult to break into such a large building and he knew many workers would be shot. He twisted his hands, feeling the rope tear at his skin. The manacles had been replaced with rope, lengths of it, wrapped around his waist too, cutting at him. He was immobile and in pain but the frustration was the worst.

The old man laughed, watching him twist. "I can see by your face you know I am right. You know they'll come, all of them. Rose will do it." He laughed again, walking back toward the door. He paused, looking back at his son, "I want him to be able to walk but not run. You know what I mean." He stormed out, slamming the heavy door behind him.

"Pick him up, Tiny", Stubbin said to the giant. The giant's hands grabbed Jim by the shoulders and picked him up off his feet, slamming him, face first, into the wall. Jim gasped, twisting his face to catch his breath. His nose filled with blood and he tried to gasp through his mouth.

Stubbin walked behind him, breathing on the back of his neck, "You hold still now, Mister West," he whispered. "You hold real still."

He moved away from Jim's view. Suddenly, something solid slammed the back of Jim's legs, just under the knee. He gasped and fell against the wall. Stubbin was back again, whispering, "a few more strikes with my trusty black jack, and you will be crawling for weeks." Jim tried to glare out of the corner of his eye but his vision was swimming. He saw the man swing back and forward again and he tried to brace for the pain this time.

Artemus walked through the front door of the warehouse and had to immediately jump to one side as a man, boxes piled higher than his head, bustled past him. Artie backed up to a wall and observed the people browsing in the large display room. Occasionally someone wearing an apron, he assumed an employee, would dart through a back door and reappear with more items for a customer. His eyes slid to his left as a female's higher pitched voice cut through the jabbering of many men. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the tall, curvaceous red-headed women behind the counter. He couldn't blame his partner for wanting to meet her at the warehouse after closing time. Artie chuckled to himself thinking she could lure him into a dark alley any day of the week.

He jumped as a man in an apron approached him. "May I help you, sir?"

Artemus immediately fell into character, removing his top hat from the grey wig, and raising his grey eyebrows, "Yes, my good man, I sincerely hope you can. I have traveled over this entire city looking for the largest shipping containers known to man but, as of yet, I have been deeply disappointed in the availability of what I desire." The man nodded, eager to please. "Let me rephrase," Artie added, "not just desire, my good man, but require."

"Yes, sir," the man said, "we have everything here. What is it you need to ship?"

Artemus half listened to him, noticing that the woman's eyes had gone to him as soon as he had started to speak. A boisterous stage voice is good for so much besides being on stage, he thought. Turning back to the man, he answered, "Elephants!" The man's draw dropped. "Didn't I already explain that? Elephants. Many, in fact."

"How," the man stuttered, "how many? What sizes?"

Artemus rolled his eyes and shifted his sore arm, over which he had thrown his coat to hide the bandages. "Dozens," he said, "didn't I just say that? My good man, if this is not something this business can do, then I will take my money elsewhere." He stepped back, as if to leave, and the man leaped forward.

"Oh, no," he stammered, "I mean yes, of course we can help you. I was just clarifying what you had told me." The man backed up, drawing Artemus further into the room. "Let me show you some choices. You want something strong so they don't break out?"

Artemus pretended to be offended, "break out? What are you implying? That these beautiful animals are dangerous?! These are pets, just like a cat or dog. You seem not to be able to comprehend this conversation. I am having second thoughts..." He stiffened his back and looked down his slightly altered nose at the man, trying his best to appear offended while really looking around the building.

"No, no, no," the now thoroughly flustered employee said. He led Artie to the back wall where enormous crates were stacked.

The door opened to the back room and the father entered, looking agitated. "Stop, stop," he snapped at his son. "Enough, I told you I wanted him to be able to walk."

The son stepped back and nodded to Tiny. The giant stepped back, releasing Jim, who immediately slid to the floor. His pantlegs were ripped open, white bandages showing on his knees. The old man stepped forward, away from the open doorway, to inspect the bandages. "He appears to already have injuries to his knees. I thought I saw him limping." He looked back at his son. "enough for now. Clean yourself up! I think you need to go out to the sales floor. There is a man asking for large boxes to ship elephants! It could be a rich, new customer."

A high pitched, elderly voice drifted in from the outer hallway. "Too small! I need strong boxes!"

Jim froze, listening in horror. He knew his partner was just outside, undoubtedly in a disguise, but would it be good enough to fool the son? He heard Artie yell again, with his elderly man's voice, about shipping pet elephants. He stifled a chuckle, wondering how his partner thought up all these odd conversations. He stayed silent, praying Artie would leave if he didn't find anything. He watched as the son hurried outside, followed by the father. Jim was soon left alone with the giant, standing over him.

The clerk blathered on as Artie nodded, and added a short word or two for encouragement, as his eyes looked everywhere. He pointed to a row of crates further down the wall, in an area by the main door to the back room where he wanted to observe. Soon the door was left wide open and Artemus was able to walk past a few times, looking into the larger storage area. Lettered crates were stacked in groups, in between the delivery wagons. Numerous men were busy loading and unloading the brightly painted wagons, oblivious to the work in the front room. Artemus turned slightly, noting some smaller rooms that were undoubtedly offices. He paused in the doorway and pointed to the delivery wagon.

"Is that your largest wagon?" The workman nodded yes. "Well, it won't do! It simply will not do!" He turned on the man, "don't you realize how large a full grown, male elephant is? How would I move it onto my train car from the wagon? You must have a derrick." He waved his top hat back and forth for emphasis, as the employee ducked.

"Traincar?" The man asked feebly, knowing the company didn't have derricks for such extremely heavy freight.

"I am sure I mentioned I wanted the elephants loaded onto my train?" With an indignant huff, Artemus slammed his right hand down on the man's shoulder. "Not to worry, my good man, you have the crates I need. I will be back when find a man with a derrick!" With that he turned back to main room. As he turned, his eyes caught a bit of blue cloth, with silver thread, laying on the floor half underneath a low shelf. Artie's heart skipped a beat but his boisterous speech never paused. He walked to the front desk and winked at the red head, " my dear, you do deliver to trains, don't you?" The woman's eyes widened, unable to respond to the surprise question. Just then, a tall thin man with a long thin mustache stepped up behind her, watching Artemus closely.

"Excuse me, sir," the young man said, "I heard you asking about unusually large boxes. I just wanted to make sure you had seen what you needed."

Artie smiled, leaning closer to the counter, to look the man in the eye. Confident of his simple costume, he smiled into the face of the man from his dream, the man who had handed him the box with the bomb. Putting on his top hat at a jaunty angle, he said, "oh, I saw everything I needed to see, young man!" Without giving the stunned man a chance to respond, he winked at the woman and walked out the door.


	17. Chapter 17

Train Wrek: Chapter 17

Jim felt his head being lifted and cool water touch his lips. The sensation stung his wounds at first but he opened his mouth to drink. The water choked him and he coughed it out, tasting blood. The woman's voice whispered encouragement and the water was again poured into his throat. He managed to swallow it without choking.

"Your eyes," the red head whispered. "I'm sorry."

"I'm alright," Jim whispered back. He felt a cold, wet cloth on his face, wiping gently. He blinked his right eye open and looked up at her. The blue eyes, surrounded by waves of red hair, leaning over him were strikingly beautiful. He wondered, for the hundredth time, why the most beautiful women he met were paired with the most evil men. "Thank you," he said, as she put the cup to his lips again.

"I'm sorry about this," she said again, lowering his head back to the floor. "They took your boots and your vest." He picked his head up to look down at himself, seeing his filthy white shirt but no vest. Down his torn pantlegs, he could see his bare feet. He tried to move his hands but his wrists were tied tight now to his sides. He pulled again, looking down at his waist. He could feel a rope scratching around his stomach and sides, hidden underneath his loose shirt tails.

"They couldn't figure out how you got the chains off. They searched you for a key, anything," she whispered. "So they used ropes. Try not to move, the ropes are cutting into your skin."

"I'm all right," Jim insisted again, trying to sit up. His stomach muscles screamed in protest as the woman helped him sit against the wall. "Nothing seems to be broken." He moved his legs, wincing as sharp pains shot from his knees into his hips. "I don't think I'll be running out of here though. Your husband knows his way with a billy club."

The woman lowered her eyes, "They want me to go to your office with a message. They want your friends to come here."

Jim hissed, "so he can shoot more of them? Or set off explosions?" The woman nodded. "You need to contact my partner. He will think of some way to stop them. But I don't want him coming here," he stopped before saying the word 'again'.

"What does he look like," she asked. "I will look for him when I get there."

Jim opened his mouth but couldn't think of anything to say. "That's difficult to say," he muttered. Age? Hair color? Height? Girth? He knew Artemus could change anything and everything about his appearance. He had never been able to answer this question in the past; he had no way to describe him and chuckled at the memory of occasionally not recognizing him himself. "Just go to the Headquarters building and ask if he's there. If not, leave a message with someone. Anyone."

"If your friends come here, the workmen could be hurt?" She ended the statement as a question. "Or the building destroyed? " Jim watched her curiously. "These are good people. This shouldn't all be ruined because of my husband's insane plans. Recently, a number of good men have left."

"You care about the business and the workers?" Jim was surprised, not connecting this beautiful creature with having thoughts about commerce. "Do you understand what they do here?"

The deep blue eyes glared at him. "Yes, of course I understand," she whispered fiercely. I run this place. I do all the paperwork and the books and the orders and the billing. It's a real business." She sighed, looking back at the door where her husband could be seen outside talking with his father. "They just use it for their own secret work. But I run the business and it makes a lot of money."

"So help me protect it and these people," Jim said, feeling blood drip through his split lips as he spoke. He pulled his legs closer, wincing in pain, as the door opened suddenly. Father and son stepped into the room, followed by the giant. Rose jumped to her feet and moved toward them. Jim glared up at the men, refusing to speak.

"Since you still won't cooperate," the old man said, "I am sending Rose to your office with a message that you need help. Your friends will come to your aid and we will kill them, all of them, in one swift and magnificent explosion." He leaned closer to Jim's face, "Just think of it, no Secret Service agents anymore," He stood up again, laughing with his son. The group turned and walked out the door except for the giant who paused at the door. He stood, looking down at Jim, flexing his hands into fists.

"Sorry if my face made your hands sore," Jim snarled. He moved his bare feet in front of his body, readying himself for another attack as the giant stepped closer, moving back into the room. He slid his back down the wall and raised his feet slightly into the air, hoping to smash the giant's face before the man could strike him again. To his relief, the old man called the giant's name and turned again and left the room, shutting the door.

Jim dropped his feet and collapsed back against the wall, feeling weak and useless. Fearing Artemus would return in a rescue attempt, he started twisting his hands in the ropes hoping blood would make the bindings slippery. He pulled at the rope bound around his waist, trying to pull it down his hips as he had with the chains, but this was tied much tighter. They learn fast, Jim thought, as his head suddenly swam with dizziness. He suddenly started coughing, spitting blood onto the floor, and reluctantly laid back down to rest. His eye spotted the glass of water Rose had left on the floor nearby. Glass; break the glass and cut the ropes, his mind screamed, as darkness over took him.

Artemus hurried across the great marble floor of the headquarters lobby, hearing a distant, "Stop, wait," The voice rang out across the large open room but he ignored it. Many faces turned to look at him as he walked, many friends that he didn't have time for right now. He pulled the scrap of paper out of his pants pocket and stared at it again, the plan forming in his head, as he walked. It wasn't a good plan, he worried, but what else was there? The voice rang out again, much closer now, "Sir, stop!" A young, blond man finally caught up to him and reached out for his arm. "Sir, can I help you?"

"What?" Artie stopped and turned to him, recognizing him, "Oh, Steve, wonderful, where is Jeremy?"

"Excuse me, sir," The younger agent paused, surprised at the old man's words. "Do I know you, sir?" He leaned over to look closer at the smiling face of the elderly man whose left arm was wrapped in bandages.

"Oh, sorry, Steve," Artie said, pulling his top hat off. He held it in the bandaged arm as he pulled off his wig, grinning at the shocked look on the young agent's face. He pulled his eyebrows off and added them to the pile of theater tricks. "Is Jeremy here? I need to make some plans with him. And with you," the brown eyes lost the usual twinkle as he became serious. "We have to move fast."

"He's in the back room at the mail boxes," Steve said, nodding toward the far end of the great room. "We'll do whatever you need." He was interrupted as a group of agents approached.

"Hey, Gordon, we just never know what the hell you'll look like," one joked. He reached out to tug on the fake mustache that Artie had forgotten to remove. Artie laughed and peeled it off, dropping it onto the wig.

"Is this the real you or is there another layer under that?" another added as even more men crowded around.

Artie smile, good-naturedly, "oh, it's me now, except for the bandages." He waved his wrapped fingers, more bandages peeking out of his coat sleeve, as the other agents, grimaced.

"Ouch, ya, we heard," another agent said. "We saw the train yesterday, it's looking better. The workmen said it just needs some new paint and furniture. You and Jim will be back on board, living in style, any day now."

"That is good news. You know Jim," Artie said, "He loves that train." The group laughed, nodding in agreement. "Well I will catch you guys later, I need to grab Jeremy." He shook hands and slapped a few shoulders as the group parted.

Artie walked quickly into the back of the lobby, followed closely by Steve, and hurried toward Jeremy. The older man was standing at a table sorting letters. "Jeremy," Artie said, as he approached. "We need to talk. I need your help today."

"What are you doing out?" Jeremy said, surprised and alarmed. He looked behind Artie into the lobby, "Isn't Jim with you?"

"No, that's the problem," Artie started to explain.

"He'll be your problem if he sees you out running around," Jeremy said, stepping back to look at his friend. "You were in a terrible explosion just a few days ago. That doctor only released you on the condition you would rest."

"Dammit, Jeremy," Artie hissed, "You need to listen to me. Jim's in trouble and I am in no shape to rescue him alone." He glared at Jeremy until the older man nodded, sighing with resignation. Artie pushed forward to the table and dropped his hat on top of the scatter of envelopes. "Look at this, both of you , and tell me what you think." He opened the paper that he had been studying and spread it out on the table, smoothing it with his hands. Faint lines resembling squares were everywhere.

"Ok, I give," Steve said, leaning closer, "What is all that?"

Artie pulled out a short nub of a pencil from another pocket and began darkening the faint lines. Within seconds he had the floor lay out, complete with doors and windows, hallway, and measurements. "I found the warehouse; and Jim is being held inside. " He took a deep breath to continue, bracing for an argument. "He found the company that delivered the bomb to the train. Now he's stuck there and can't get out." Artie tossed the pencil onto the paper. "I was just there. I am sure he is being held in one of these back rooms," he ran a finger over the lines. "It killed me not to go running in there to break him out but the place was full of men. They appeared to be just workmen but I am not sure how involved everyone is in this." He paused again, "I only had five bullets in my gun. If I had started a fight, they would have finished it for me."

Jeremy rubbed his chin, thinking. "I won't ask you how you came to know all this because it will deprive me of an exciting story of adventure better enjoyed over a glass of fine, drinking whiskey. But for right now, you think Jim is being held in this building." Artie looked at him and nodded. "And you want Steve and I to help you break him out?" Again Artie nodded.

Steve waved a hand over his shoulder. "How about we just get everyone and rush the place? Two men per door! They would never expect it. You just were talking to the guys. We could go now." Artie looked from Steve to Jeremy.

"It could work, if I could get in there first," Artie said slowly." I need to get to him before everyone goes in. They could shoot him before we were halfway in."

"They could shoot you both," Jeremy said quietly. Artie nodded in agreement. "If we could get him outside," Jeremy continued, "then we could see where he is and negotiate for him."

"Excuse me?" The men turned to see a tall brunette behind them.

Steve jumped closer to her, "Hi, Marlita, what can I do for you?" He leaned closer, smiling at the young secretary.

"Hello, Steven," the woman smiled, then turned to Artemus, "there is a woman in the lobby asking for you. I saw you walk back here earlier and thought I should let you know. Malinda is keeping her busy. Do you have time to speak to her?"

Artie turned to look at her, "Did she say who she is or what she needs? I'm a little busy right now." He turned back to the drawings, still adding details with the pencil.

"I didn't ask her name and I didn't think it proper for me to ask her anything regarding her business," Marlita said, shrugging. "But she's a tall, gorgeous red head and she seems…" She paused as Artie looked up and then darted around her to hurry into the doorway of the lobby.

Slowing his pace as he entered the room, Artie approached the woman he had seen at the warehouse. He realized he was wearing the same clothes but, without the wig and facial hair, he knew he looked radically different. He also stood taller than he did earlier when dressed as an old man with an elephant problem, and walked without the elderly shuffling gait. He stepped closer to her, holding his bandaged arm behind him, and held his right hand out for hers, politely nodding and smiling. He took her hand in his, resisting the urge to crush her fingers and scream at her.

"My dear, you have me at a disadvantage," he purred, bowing over her hand slightly. He stood straight again, still keeping her hand in his, watching color rise in his cheeks. He studied her, much closer now, wondering how close his partner had come to her. Far too close, he was afraid.

"Are you Artemus Gordon?" Her voice vibrated with nervousness. She finally pulled her hand away, her fingers fluttering to her throat. "I have a message for you," she stammered. Her blue eyes darted about the large lobby, the openness was filled with agents and secretaries hurrying about their daily tasks. None appeared to be watching but no one was actually leaving the room. In fact, more were strolling in, walking past, nodding politely but hovering nearby. She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him, "my friends want to trade, him for you."

Artie's eyebrows raised, "a trade? Why do your friends want me instead?" He studied her mannerisms, trying to determine if she was telling him the truth.

"I don't know," she whispered, "but the box they transported to the train was meant for you. They told me. He wants you, not your friend. He wants to trade."

"Really," Artie said, his eyes narrowing. He tried to keep his voice calm but was unable to speak through his clenched teeth. "And?"

The woman looked over her shoulder now, toward the front door. Looking back she said, "He wants to make the trade on the bridge over the bay between here and the warehouse."

Artie smiled as relief flooded though him, "and would noon be good for your friends?"

"I will tell them noon, yes," she breathed, stepping back. She glanced around the room, now crowded with people standing along the walls, all very obviously looking at papers or speaking to each other. "Noon, the bridge. You know where?"

"I know where," Artie said. "Is my friend all right? Can he walk?"

"How should I know that?" The woman suddenly cried out. She spun away and hurried out of the building into the morning sunlight.

Artie stood looking at the front doorway as a dozen agents and secretaries hurried to him, all asking who the red head was. Artie, coming out of his daze, said, "Just one of my partner's many lady friends. You know Jim, he can't keep them all happy." He winked at one of the secretaries, enjoying her angry blush, "he doesn't have energy for all of them, especially the red heads." The agents rolled their eyes and made comments under their breath as the secretaries stomped off. Artie turned and hurried back to Jeremy who stood in the doorway of the back room.

"Who was that?" the older agent said, letting out a long whistle.

Artie came in, followed by Steve, "that's one of them." He hissed. "She said her friends want to trade Jim for me!" Jeremy and Steve exchanged shocked glances. "She said they wanted me all along and have Jim by mistake. But that's a lie," Artie snarled. He leaned his hands on the table, thinking out loud. "I remembered last night in my sleep, the box had Jim's name on it. Not mine. His."

"You mean you opened his mail?" Jeremy said quietly, not sure if he should interrupt.

"Yes," Artie said, whispering, lost in thought. "And she knows that. But she doesn't know I know it. She wants to trade. Why? To save Jim? To save her friends? She didn't recognize me so she doesn't know the warehouse has been discovered." He stood up and shook his head. "Unless Jim has told her something." He sighed and wiped his hand over his face. "It doesn't matter. What matters is we don't have to go into that building today. We are going to a bridge instead. I can't imagine why," he said, seeing Steve trying to ask a question, "but my Great Aunt Maud always said never look a gift horse in the mouth," He winked at Jeremy and then looked back at Steve.

"You two with me?" The agents nodded. "Good, this is what you're going to do," he said, flipping the paper over and picking up the pencil again.

Artemus stood on the bridge in the brilliant afternoon sunshine of the clear fall day. A cold wind blew through his thin cotton shirt and tugged at his hair, knocking the usual unruly lock across his forehead. He reached up and pushed it out of his eyes, muttering about needing a haircut. He squinted through the sunlight, watching the dust cloud approach from far down the road, hoping it was them. Luckily so far, the route seemed empty of city traffic; the less witnesses the better, he thought.

He peeked over the wooden railings on the bridge, seeing the shadows underneath the structure. The noon meeting was perfect, he thought, and this bridge itself would hopefully be enough of a shelter. He reviewed the plan again in his mind looking for weaknesses. The only worry was Jim; if his partner was injured, he knew the plan would fail.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Artie's fists clenched as a carriage appeared out of the dust cloud and started down the bridge. He stepped to the side as the wheels rolled past him disturbing the coating of dust on the wooden planks. The driver tipped his hat to the agent as the carriage continued onto the road and toward the city, not pausing, no one inside looking out toward him, much less calling out to him. He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Dammit," he muttered, his dark eyes darting down the road for another wagon or carriage. It must be past noon. Panic began to well up inside as he imagined what could be happening to his partner. What if they never come? What if Jim is already dead?! He shook his head, his mind suddenly hearing his Great Aunt Maud laughing at him. Stop being so melodramatic, she would say, just because you come from a theatrical family, there's no reason to over react to everything. He smiled to himself remembering the times when Jim had reminded him of his Aunt. They would have liked each other, he chuckled; they are so alike.

He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, his eyes again scanning the road beyond. He thought he saw another dust cloud. As he waited, his mind wandered to his youthful days, performing with his family in New York City. What would his Aunt Maud think of his acting career now? I'm not always on stage, he sighed, but always doing a new show, keeping it fresh, bringing theater to a wide audience. He remembered her saying Shakespeare was not written for the rich, high class; it was meant for the people. Could he go back to the stage after being an agent? He thought not. It was fine for an occasional summer stock during a short vacation but not for everyday life again, he mused, it would be so anticlimactic now. When his family and friends worried that a bad show would end their life, they had no idea. His bad stage act could end his life or his partner's.

Another cloud of dust was coming down the road. He could see in the distance that it was a black wagon with red and gold pinstripes and swirls of color. The wagon slowed as it passed underneath the overhanging branches of trees along the roadway. The red and golden swirls appeared to move as the shadows played along the side of the wagon. Don't jinx this with doubt, Artemus, he thought to himself as his heart pounded in his chest. Just play the part of your life. He stepped sideways into the center of the road as the wagon approached. It slowed to a stop, the door at the end of the bridge, blocking the roadway.

"What's your name?" The driver yelled down, holding the rains tight and kicking on the break.

"Who are you looking for?" Artie yelled out, irritated at seeing the young man who had so recently delivered him the surprise package.

The man sneered. He had put a hand over his eyes to block out the strong noon sunshine and had gotten a better look at the figure on the bridge. "You look pretty well for a guy that got blown up!" He leaned over and knocked his knuckles onto the side of the wagon.

Artie smiled, nodding his greeting. He enjoyed seeing the man squinting at him; knowing the bright sunlight would interfere with sight and therefore slow reflexes. "In my job, such explosions are commonplace. Besides yours was more of the amateur design, sufficient to frighten school teachers and bankers, no doubt, but not really up to par with international assassins with whom I usually interact." He laughed as the young man threw down the reins and jumped to the ground, face flushed with anger.

"Son," an elderly man snapped, as he climbed down steps at the back of the wagon. The back doors were being pulled open by one of the largest men Artemus had ever seen. Artie's breath caught in his throat as he looked at the giant. The man was as tall as Vultaire but much broader. His movements were slow and cumbersome, as often seen in someone that large. Artemus was reminded of Athos, the Greek giant. I hope he has a pleasant disposition, he thought to himself, trying to resist the urge to back away.

"Mr. Gordon, I presume," the old man said, causing Artemus to look away from the giant, who seemed to linger at the back doors of the wagon. The elderly man stepped forward to join his son, facing Artemus from their end of the bridge. Artie stayed just behind the rise of the bridge, not quite half way across, only the upper half of his body showing to his adversaries. "What an interesting place for a meeting. Rather hot, but sufficient to observe that you are alone."

"So what's next?" Artemus said.

"It's simple," the old man said, "You for him. He can stay here; I am sure someone will help him into the city. He is free to go. We needed you all along," the old man smiled. "We only have Mr. West because he bumbled into our warehouse. He's isn't a very smart agent; just persistent and lucky."

Artie smiled, knowing every word was a lie. Now to see if they will believe my lies. "So where is he? I assume he rode with you in the wagon, so why hide him? Let' get started."

"Not yet," the son yelled out, stepping forward and pointing angrily. "I want to make sure you're not armed. Step a might closer so I can see you and turn around." He motioned for Artie to walk closer. The agent sighed, knowing this would happen. He stepped to the crown of the bridge and raised his arms. "Turn around and hold your shirt up!" Artie complied, pulling his shirt tails out of his pants and holding the thin cloth up. The cold wind burned at his bare skin. He turned so his lower back and pants waist band were visible and visibly empty of a handgun. He dropped the shirt and turned back, facing them, hands held out to his sides now.

The elderly man nodded to his son who quickly turned and walked to the wagon. He went behind a door and appeared to reach inside. Then he pulled back and Jim appeared, briefly standing on his feet before collapsing to the ground.

Artemus took a step forward but caught himself, immediately stepping back again. He looked toward the elderly man, yelling out, "How the hell do you expect this to work if he can't walk?" His fists clenched as he watched the young man grab Jim by an elbow and drag him forward, to drop him again at the elderly man's feet. Jim appeared to be unconscious; he laid completely still, face down in the dirt.

"He's fine," the young man laughed, reaching down again. He grabbed Jim by the hair and picked up his head and chest. Artie gasped as he saw his partner's battered and swollen face. Then the young man grabbed Jim's shirt, crumpling the back of it and pulled Jim backwards, onto his knees. Jim seemed to pull slightly, weakly, trying to free himself of the rough grasp. The young man stepped back, letting go of the filthy hair, but keeping the grip of the shirt, holding Jim upright.

The elderly man called out, "Now you come here and we will let him go!"

Artie, thinking furiously at this serious setback in his plan, took a step back. "No," he shouted, "the deal is the same. He walks towards this end of the bridge while I walk towards you!" Artie waved his hand, gesturing, for emphasis.

The elderly man drew a knife from inside his coat and smiled, as if he was enjoying the situation. He stepped to Jim's side and grabbed his hair, pulling his head backwards. His other hand held the knife to Jim's exposed throat. Turning, he called out to Artemus, "you do as I say, agent, or I start cutting!"

Artie shook his head, stubbornly, "put him on his feet." He knew approaching them would be certain death. This stage show is going to replay in my nightmares, he groaned, watching his partner, terrified of how this could end in an instant.

Jim's chest was heaving, though his struggling had stopped when the blade had touched his skin. Taking a deep breath, he yelled, "I can walk." He gasped again, "Artie, don't come over here." The blade slid sideways and a red line appeared on his skin. Jim flinched and twisted his head. "Don't ," he called out again to his partner, the word barely choked out.

"Let him up!" Artie shouted, finally taking a step closer, panicking at the sight of the blood flowing down Jim's throat, making bright red rivulets down his chest in the sunlight "He can walk to the middle of the bridge. We'll switch there." A new plan was forming in his mind as his eyes darted around the bridge. "Lean him against the railing and he can walk that far." Relief flooded through him as the elderly man stepped back, releasing Jim. The son pulled him upright to his feet. Jim started to sink back down but quickly recovered his legs and was able to walk to the bridge railing, though his right foot dragged in the dirt.

"Artie?" Jim squinted into the sunlight as he leaned heavily on the railing. His head dropped to his chest and his body swayed. The young man gave him a shove, pushing him down the bridge.

"Move your ass, West," he laughed, "your partner is waiting." He turned to move back to his father. The old man was wiping blood from his blade and replaced it into his coat. The young man spun and pulled out his revolver, pointing it at Jim's back. "Don't do anything sudden either, mister," glaring at Artemus, "I can shoot him at this range before you can blink an eye."

Artie froze while the revolver was pointed at Jim, then nodded slowly and the man lowered it. Stalling for time, he called, "What has been the point of all of this? The bomb, the fire, now this trade?"

The elderly man sneered, "I was thrown in prison by Secret Service agents! You don't recognize me, do you? Your friend didn't either!" The man was working himself into a rage. "I spent the last five years in a federal prison and every day I thought about evening the score. So when I got out, I bid my time, did a little looking around, asked a few questions, and I found West and his fancy train. Well now the train is gone and soon all of you agents will die. I wanted to trap all of you in the warehouse and kill you all in a huge explosion but I can kill you one or two at a time instead. I am persistent too, just like your partner. I will kill every single agent eventually."

Artie noticed that while the old man was yelling his plans, Jim had been moving forward, slowly but surely. He watched, out of the corner of his eye, as his friend took a step with his left leg, while leaning heavily against the railing, and then dragged his right leg. Looking down, he was shocked to see him in bare feet. The lower part of his pant legs were torn, with dark stains. He couldn't see Jim's face since his friend was bent over at the waist but his white shirt was also in shreds and had the same ominous dark stains. His hands seemed completely immobilized behind him. Artie quickly reviewed the new plan in his head, mentally counting steps, knowing his partner would be in no condition to help.

The sudden revolver shot rang out as dust exploded at Jim's feet. Artie jumped and his heart skipped a beat. The young man laughed, "Hurry up, West! This sun is hot and I have a business to run!" He shot another round, the bullet striking the railing just behind Jim. He turned back to Artemus, pointing the gun at him now. "And you too, mister!"

Artemus could see the armed man squinting again, obviously having a difficult time seeing clearly. The wooden deck of the bridge shimmered with a heat wave and objects occasionally appeared to hover. The agent studied the hand gun pointing at him, noticing the small fame of a pocket pistol. This will work, he said to himself, just keep moving.

"I'll walk when he walks." Artemus turned back to see his partner looking at him. Jim was holding his head up and peering out with swollen, black eyes. Artie mouthed "Walk" at him. He watched as Jim's eyes narrowed, worry lines clear on his forehead. He turned to look down at the water, swirling and rushing past, underneath the bridge, and then back to his partner. Artie nodded very slightly and Jim took another step closer.

"You know your partner said you weren't actually a Secret Service agent?" The young man laughed as Artie turned a curious gaze toward him. "Yes, sir, he said you were just his helper and you weren't an agent at all. He said he was the agent." The man paused to see what affect his words were having and then continued. "And he said you wouldn't even have been working for this secret government group if it weren't for him!"

Artemus paused and nodded, "If that's what he said, then it must be true. Jim West never told a lie in his life!" He enjoyed seeing the laughing smile disappear to be replaced by anger as the man snarled.

"West's life is going to be damn shorter after today!" The man raised the revolver again, but his father put a hand on his wrist.

"Son", the elderly man chided. "You are not thinking about what we are doing here." The son turned away from Artemus to look at his father.

And Artie ran, leaping across the bridge in three long strides, to reach his partner before the young man regained his aim with the gun. It was the shortest and fastest sprint he ever ran. As he approached, he saw Jim brace himself for what was happening, his jaw set and body tense. Artie grabbed him in a bear hug, arms wrapping around his friend's waist. His momentum rolled them over the railing and they dropped down into the water, plunging under the surface.

They swirled, clamped together, quickly flowing down the stream underneath the bridge. Artie kicked his legs and their heads popped out of the water. Jim coughed as they gasped in the frigid air only to have a wave splash over them and knock them under again. The current spun them and pulled them deeper. Artie felt his back slam into a bridge support and his arms slid up Jim's back. Terrified he was losing his grip, he wrapped his legs around his partners' but they seemed to sink even deeper. He released his feet to kick out again, bringing them back to the air, just as they slammed into another wooden post. Artie felt his body's response slowing in the cold water and began to doubt his plan again.


	19. Chapter 19

Train Wreck 19

Artemus felt his lungs burning and his ears pounding as he swirled deeper into the water. He kicked with his feet, but his legs felt slow and stiff now. He reached out with his left hand but his bandaged fingers could not grip anything. He managed to reach the surface for an instant and gulped a short breath of air. He tried to push Jim's face toward the air but he partner was limp in his arms now and unmoving.

Just as the partners went under the surface again, Artemus felt a firm grip on his shoulder, pulling them upwards.

"Christ, Artie," Steve yelled in his ear, "That took long enough, didn't it?" He pulled them to a support post, hidden in the shadows of the bridge surface, as gunfire erupted just a few feet overhead. "I hope Jeremy makes short work of them. This freezing water will kill us all!" He choked as a wave washed a mouthful of water into him, ending his complaints.

Artie reached his left hand out to grasp a cross beam and struggled to drag Jim higher out of the water. "Jim," he gasped, trying to get a response from his partner. "Can you hear me?" Jim's swollen eyes were closed and his mouth hung open. Watery blood drizzled out of his nose and split lips.

Steve grimaced at the sight of his friend and reached out to help lean Jim back against the pillar. "Christ," he whispered again. He started to speak but a bullet ricocheted near Jim's head, striking the wooden beam and throwing splinters out at the group. Steve let go of them, turning his body to shield them from the shooter.

Artie's hand lost its grip and his fingers slid down the wet wood. He and his partner plunged again under the waves, caught in the current. Artemus clung to Jim with his right arm, and kicked with his feet again, while his left hand reached out for another bridge support. Desperate for a hand hold, he knew that without Steve's aid, they would be swept much further down the stream, and much deeper, than he planned. He could feel Jim's legs wrap around one of his and knew his partner was instinctively trying to hold onto him. His hand slipped again as they hit another wooden post and the strong current tried to twist them apart. Artie felt the rope tied around Jim's waist and grabbed it, knowing it must hurt but determined to keep them together.

Suddenly his boots hit something underwater and his back slammed into another post. He reached up and felt his fingernails dragging down wood. Something snagged his cloth bandages and stopped his motion. He pulled up and their heads burst out of the water, but their bodies were still being pulled by the strong current.

Artie gasped in the cold air, twisting his head and shifting his shoulder until he could see his partner's face in the semi-darkness. "Jim," he whispered, his throat raw from the cold and wet. "Are you all right?" Jim coughed water out and gasped in air. His body lay limp and heavy against Artie's shoulder. "Buddy, talk to me." Jim managed to moan, his forehead rolling now to Artie's chest as the waves battered at them. He continued coughing and gasping.

"Artemus!" Steve said, suddenly appearing at their side again in the stream. He grabbed Artie's shoulder and pulled them in closer to the bridge's support system, shielding them from the current. "Sorry I had to let go of you guys. I thought for sure you would both be at the bottom of the river by now." Steve grasped Jim's shoulder, helping to hold him up. "That old man shot at you, Jim. But I got him!"

Artie tipped Jim away from his chest, pushing his partner against a wooden post, to get a better look at his face. "Jim," he said, his voice urgent now, "Speak to me, dammit. Say something."

Jim's mouth opened slightly and he whispered, "I told you not to leave the hotel."

Artie chocked out, "what?, shocked until he saw his friend's lips twist into a weak smile. The pale blue eyes, half opened, stared into him. Artie grinned, relief clear in his voice, "and I told you not to disappear." Jim laughed, trying to hold his head up straighter, his face wincing in pain. "Did the red head do all this to you?"

Jim snorted, "No, it was her husband. He didn't like me at all." Artie rolled his eyes as Steve laughed.

Jeremy leaned over the bridge railing and hollered down to them. "It's a little cold for a swim, don't you think? You want to come out of there?" Steve waved up to him, starting to pull on his friends.

Artemus shook his head and said, "Just get Jim out, then come help me."

Jim started to protest, but Steve nodded silently in agreement and dragged him through the current to the nearby bank. Jeremy, tottering on the edge of a bank, reached down to grab Jim under the armpits and dragged him onto the grass and then up to the roadway. He leaned Jim against a bridge post and started to fumble with the ropes. "No," Jim whispered, nodding to the river, "leave me. Get Artie." His teeth were clenched now from the cold and his body shook in the strong wind. Jeremy again scrambled down the bank and helped drag the larger agent up. With Steve behind him, Artie slowly climbed, obviously favoring his wounded arm, holding his left hand against his chest. His bandages hung in wet shreds.

"I'll stay with them," Jeremy said to Steve, "you go look in the carriages for blankets. You'll all be chilled to the bones soon". He helped Artie sit next to Jim and then knelt behind them, busy cutting the ropes from Jim's hands.

Artie rested a reassuring hand on Jim's thigh and stared at his partner's body; his eyes looking from the bare feet, up the torn clothing that only partially hid numerous bleeding injuries, to the horrid slice on his throat. Blood ran out of cuts on Jim's face to run down his chin and neck, mixing with blood coming from the open red line.

Jim growled at him, without opening his eyes, "I'm fine. Stop starting at me."

Artie put another hand out to Jim's arm and cleared his throat, "you don't look fine, Jim. We'll get you to the hospital…"

Jim's eyes snapped open, "I am not going back to that damned hospital," he said firmly, "I'm just sore, nothing's broken." Suddenly he could move his arms and he pulled his hands in front of him, ripping at the bits of rope. Then he pulled off the rope around his waist, throwing the pieces away from him in a burst of anger. "Help me up, Artie," he whispered, reaching for his partner. Artie held out his good arm and Jim grabbed him, pulling himself to his feet, immediately leaning heavily and limping. "Feet are sore," he mumbled, trying to walk.

"I guess as long as he answers you like that," Jeremy said, stepping forward to help hold him up, "he's not feeling so bad. Good thing you thought to wash in the river, Jim, and get yourself cleaned up. Otherwise we would have thought you were injured." Steve stepped over to wrap blankets around Artemus and Jim's shoulders. "Let's get you into a carriage and out of this wind."

"Where are they? I want to see them first." Jim asked, looking at Jeremy. He nodded toward a rifle with a long scope attached, leaning against the bridge. "Where were you anyway?"

Jeremy grinned at Artemus, "Your partner had me hiding up in a tree. " He pointed to a tall fur tree at the end of the bridge. "I could see everything from up there. But I couldn't get them all," he said, looking toward Steve, "Unless you can find that big guy behind their wagon or maybe in the woods." Steve drew his pistol and walked slowly away from the group, moving slowly toward the wagon that Jim had arrived in. The back doors were still open.

"What happened," Jim asked, looking around them. He could see the father and son, lying face up on the road, unmoving. He slowly stepped forward and walked, with a friend on either arm, to the two dead men.

"Is that Rose's husband?" Artie asked, his boot kicking the body of the young man who had recently handed him the bomb. A bright red stain had spread through the chest area of the fancy black coat with the gold trim, around a bullet hole.

"Was," Jim corrected, "I don't think they were really married," he sighed, "they certainly aren't now." They walked to the father, who was sprawled by the railing where he had fallen. The body was covered with blood, obviously from more than one gunshot. "That's the father; apparently they saw me at the train a week ago and thought it would be a good idea to blow me up inside it." He turned to Jeremy, "does he look familiar to you?"

Jeremy nodded, smiling with his crooked grin. "The Engraver?" Jim nodded, "that was a few years again. I guess he didn't reside for long in the Big house. It would be considerate if the officials in the prison system would let us know when they released these people, just in case they decide to dedicate their lives to seeking revenge."

"It would just worry you," Artie said, "My Great Aunt Maud always said, 'Ignorance is bliss'."

"Your Great Aunt Maud talked too much," Jim said, teasing his partner. "I bet she wouldn't like you leaving me out in the cold like this. Let's head back to the hotel."

"She'd drag your ass to the hospital," Artie growled, trying to give his partner a stern look but grinning instead. "But I can have the doctor make a house call." He laughed as Jim shook his head in defeat. "Besides there is someone at the hotel you need to meet. We have a lot to discuss."

"Are we writing this in a report?" Jim asked.

"We?" Artie said, mocking him now, "You mean me?" Jim stopped walking to laugh, wincing at the same time. "Since there are two dead men lying here, Colonel Richmond will think a report is warranted." The carriage pulled up and Artie and Jim climbed slowly inside. Artie leaned out of the doorway, closer to Jeremy who stood outside, and whispered, "keep an eye out for that last guy, Jeremy. I don't like leaving you two here but Jim's a mess. I need to get him inside out of this cold air."

"Don't worry about us," Jeremy said, turning to watch Steve walk back onto the roadway. "I think that big guy is a faster runner than I expected. I am sure he is miles from here now." He reached out to squeeze Artie's shoulder, "but take care, Artemus, just in case. We'll stop in later."

"I got him, Leroy," Artie whispered, nodding to a couple who hurried past them in the hotel lobby. "Good evening," he said to the man whose eyes were looking too closely at the limp, damp, blanket wrapped person leaning against him. The couple hurried past, heads together whispering. He turned back to the waiter as the elevator door opened. "Hopefully everyone will think my friend has imbibed a bit too much."

Leroy held the gated door open to the elevator as Artemus and his burden staggered in. Leroy noticed the pools of water across the hotel lobby and shook his head. "Hard not to see you both been taking a swim somewhere. And it is a bit early in the evening to be that," he paused, entering the elevator and closing the gate. "That far gone, anyway," he added, working the mechanism and waiting for the elevator to rise. Luckily most of the guests had been out to an early dinner and off to evening activities in the city. The hotel lobby had been mostly deserted, except for the staff. The elevator soon stopped and the group moved out to the nearby room door. "I'll just unlock this door for you and then I got to get back down and clean up that water. Don't want any questions."

Artie chuckled as he entered the suite, "Just tell everyone we were celebrating at the docks and fell in the river." Jim groaned as they moved, limping on both feet now. Artie wrapped his arm tighter around his partner's waist, holding him against his side as they moved. The blanket hid most of the injuries and the torn clothing. Without his boots on, his partner seemed even smaller than usual. Artie's mind went to the giant and the pain his friend was in. Pausing, he looked back over Jim's bent head, "Leroy, could you please send for the doctor that has been visiting me here?"

"That woman?" Leroy whispered, "Is she really a doctor?" When Artie nodded, he shrugged and shut the door, locking it.

"Need to talk to him," Jim said, his voice dry and weak. He picked his head up as a shiver shook his body. "So cold," he said through clenched teeth. "Tired."

"Ya, ya," Artie said, "tired, cold, and sore. But you don't need a doctor, right?" His voice had an irritated edge. "Well then you have to do what I think is best. And I think you need to get warmed up before you lay down." He walked Jim slowly into the bathroom. "You'll love this shower. You didn't have time to try it when we first got here. I have been using it quite a bit and I think we need one on the train." Jim walked silently next to him, too tired to argue. Artie maneuvered him into the bathroom and to a chair next to the tub. "Sit here and pull your clothes off while I heat the water."

Jim slowly sat down, his head still drooping. "If I get in the bathtub, I won't be able to get out," he grumbled. "Too sore."

"Ya, ya, sore and tired," Artie said, pulling out a towel from a shelf. "But you don't need pneumonia either and you're freezing. Besides you are going to stand in the shower, not sit in the tub."

Jim shook his head in defeat and pulled his wet shirt off over his head, tossing it in a heap onto the floor. He unbuttoned his pants and, wiggling his butt, managed to pull the wet material off and down his legs. He moaned as he leaned over, finally kicking the pants off his feet. He pulled at his underwear and those soon joined the pile of ruined clothes. "I want to find my boots," he growled, kicking his clothes with his toes. "Damn, I didn't get to kill either of them. I don't think I ever landed a decent punch."

"Well the giant is still out there, somewhere," Artie said, "maybe he will pay us a visit someday."

"I almost had him," Jim said, grinning, remembering. He held his hands out and moved his fists, as if holding an invisible rope. "Handcuffed once but I got them off; held the chain," he paused, twisting his fists, "and I wrapped it around his throat. I was strangling him."

Artie paused to stare at his partner, concern clear in the dark eyes. "But?"

"It was like fighting a tree," Jim said, looking up at his friend. "He was as solid as a tree trunk. And then he tipped over, finally." He dropped his hands and laughed. "But he fell on me. I must have hit my head. I don't remember after that."

Artie sighed and rolled his eyes, knowing that scene would come back to him in his sleep. "Ok, well, let's worry about you right now." He turned water on into the tub and pulled a curtain back. "Watch," he grinned, turning a handle. The water sprayed out of the shower head. "Leroy said they put these in all the bathrooms. He said they take less water than filling a tub if you don't use it too long. But it feels great and I am sure I am running this city dry." He walked over and hooked a hand underneath Jim's armpit and dragged him slowly to his feet, "Much faster than a bath and you don't have to sit down. Just stay on your feet."

Jim walked to the edge of the tub and looked at the water. He held a hand out into the spray of hot water. "Hmph," he said. Slowly, leaning against his partner, he picked up one foot at a time and finally managed to stand in the tub.

"Hold the water pipe," Artie said, wrapping a small cloth around the pipe first. He moved Jim's left hand to the pipe, "just don't fall." He stepped back as Jim leaned forward, letting the water pour onto the back of his neck. A slow moan escaped Jim's lips as his body stopped shaking. "Nice, isn't it," Artie said, walking around to pull the curtain into the tub. He paused as he looked at his partner's injuries. The skin was bleeding and torn over his shoulder blades and drizzles of red water flowed down his back. Artie's eyes followed the blood and noticed the many bruises, of various shades of black, purple, and yellow, covering his ribcage and hips. An angry red welt encircled his waist from the rope, matching the marks on his wrists. Then he saw the deep black bruises on the back of his friend's legs.

"What the hell happened to your legs," he asked quietly, "those bruises look like lines. Were you hit with something?"

"Billy club," Jim said softly. "I wish the son had escaped so I could hunt him down." Artie took a deep breath and walked around to see the front of his partner, noting more injuries, remembering what to mention to the doctor. Bloody water pooled around Jim's feet as his skin washed clean. "But there's something I don't understand," Jim said, as he slowly moved his head under the water, soaking his hair. He tipped his head back and let the water beat on his face. He opened his mouth to drink.

"What?" Artie said, laughing at his partner drinking the shower water.

"The old man, the Engraver," Jim said, "or the son, I don't remember which, saw me at the train. They decided to send a bomb to kill me for revenge. But they didn't know you. You weren't with me for that investigation; Jeremy was, while you were in Washington with that broken leg. So how the hell did that box have your name on it?"

"Oh, it didn't," Artie said, stepping in front of Jim, grinning, "I finally remembered what happened, that's why I went to the warehouse looking for you. It came to me last night."

The pale blue eyes opened to stare at Artemus, "what came to you?"

"The box did have your name on it," Artie said.

"What?" Jim said, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Why the hell did you open it if it had my name on it?"

Artie snapped back, "don't glare at me, I just saved your ass." Jim snorted, and continued to glare, though a corner of his mouth twisted into a smile. "You were out with Cobb when the box arrived. I thought it was the new ammunition die set we ordered so I opened it."

"Did it have a return address on it?" Jim asked. He leaned back to gulp at the hot water.

Artie shook his head, "no, you were just worrying about the train and I didn't want to bother you. " He shrugged, laughing. "I won't do it again, that's for sure." Jim nodded slowly. "We have a lot to talk about but it can wait. The train might even be finished by now."

"Ya, I need to sleep," Jim said slowly, his head dropping again, letting the water pour down his back. He twisted and stretched his muscles in the hot water. "I love this thing. We definitely need one of these on the train." He opened one eye, to grin at Artie, "you figured this thing out, right?" He laughed as Artie nodded. "Good. I'm done. Drag me to my bed, will you partner?"

Artie reached down to shut the water off and pick up a thick, white hotel bathrobe from where he had hung it on a hook. He wrapped it over Jim's shoulders and back and helped him out of the tub. Slowly they walked to the bedroom Jim was using. Artie helped him lay down on the bed, picking up his feet to help get the bruised legs under the blankets. He leaned over to speak to his partner and realized he was already asleep. He stood up and watched Jim breath for a few minutes, to reassure himself that his partner was alive, trying to calm his own nerves. His eyes went to the terrible cuts on Jim's throat and face; the blood already drying. Taking a deep breath, he moved toward the bathroom, pulling his wet, torn bandages from his hand and arm as he walked.


	20. Chapter 20

Train Wreck Chapter 20

"Come in," Artie called out, as he sat at the suite's dining room table. The door opened quietly and Leroy came in, pushing the food cart. "Good morning, Leroy. Thank you for delivery yet another magnificent source of sustenance."

Leroy paused in the doorway, looking up at Artemus with a curious look. "The kitchen said you wanted breakfast and lunch at the same time?"

Artie chuckled, "yes, my good man, we have missed a few meals and need to catch up." Leroy pushed the heavily laden cart to the table and began carefully placing the covered dishes in front of Artemus. As he moved a stack of clean plates and silverware, a spoon toppled to the floor. "Oh, my Great Aunt Maud always said, 'when you drop a spoon, expect a visitor'". A knock immediately sounded on the suite's door. "See," Artie said, winking at Leroy.

"That don't mean nothing in this room," Leroy laughed, putting the spoon back onto the table. "You get more visitors than the main lobby does."

"Good morning," Jeremy said as he entered the hotel suite, followed by his young partner who was carrying a small wooden crate which he dropped onto the floor just inside the door. "Or should I say good afternoon?" Steven laughed behind him as he held the door open for the waiter pushing the now empty rolling cart toward the hallway. Jeremy held a hand out to him, "Excuse me, young man, but you are Leroy, are you not?"

Leroy stood up straight and looked back at Artemus. Artie winked at him again and smiled. Leroy turned back to Jeremy, "Yes, sir, that's my name." He swallowed, visibly nervous, "Am I in trouble? You all is some kind of lawmen of some sort. "

"Not at all, my good man," Jeremy said, patting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "But please stay for a bit, if you can. I have news for you." He turned Leroy's shoulder around and guided him back to the table, pushing him to a chair. "Artemus, this is a huge meal," he said, as his eyes tried to see all the dishes. "Is it breakfast or dinner?"

"Both," Artie said, nodding toward the open bedroom doors. "I'm waking Jim up." Jeremy and Steve exchanged a look as Artie began uncovering dishes. Smells of bacon and ham burst from the containers as each cover was opened with a flourish. "He won't be able to resist, especially the bacon".

"Is he still asleep?" Steve asked, turning to look up at the large mantle clock.

"Dammit, Artie!" A roar came from Jim's hotel bedroom. "What the hell happened?"

The group all turned to stare at the room with a mixture of fear and amusement on their expressions. "That did it, all right," Jeremy drawled, emphasizing his southern accent.

Jim appeared, loosely wearing the white bathrobe and leaning against the doorway. He held his arms out and turned his hands over and over, looking at the white bandages on his wrists. "What the hell is this? Who put these bandages all over me?" He opened the robe to look at a greasy smear of salve rubbed over the red welt around his waist.

"James, good morning," Artemus said. "Come join us. You must be starving." Jim glared at him, knowing his partner wouldn't offer any information until he was ready. He also knew he was being teased. "Can you walk this far? No walls to lean on over here."

"Yes," Jim hissed, looking across the room. Then he grinned, nodding at Steve, "come here, would you?" Steven hurried over to him, holding his arm out for him to lean on. They walked slowly to the table.

"You need a cane, James," Jeremy said, trying to stay light-hearted as he watched Jim limp across the carpet on bare feet.

"I just need some sleep," Jim snapped, as Steve helped him sit at the table, across from his partner. "Why are you guys here waking me up? It's only been a couple hours."

Artie handed his partner a cup of coffee, "actually, James, it's been 26 hours. We got you back yesterday." Jim stared at him and then to the mantle clock and then to his friends. Jeremy and Steve both grinned at him as he looked back at Artie. Clearing his throat he said, "well, then I guess it's time to get moving."

"I would suggest a hearty meal and then more sleep tonight," Jeremy said. "But, in the meantime, while you eat, I have some news of the warehouse." As Artie handed his partner a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs, Jeremy and Steve described what they had found. "We were looking for signs of those two making explosives implements. We looked all over that warehouse and even broke into some smaller outbuildings but there was nothing to be seen. Then we returned to the back office and found the lair," he said, winking at Leroy. The waiter sat frozen, listening intently. "We picked a lock open on a small, half-size door on a back wall and found a stash of dynamite. So it was there after all. We relocked the door and left it there for now." Jim and Artie nodded in agreement as Jeremy continued. "Of course, the most important finds were your things, Jim." He nodded toward a box on the floor that Steve had entered with. "Your boots, hat, jacket…" he snorted, "your shit was strewn everywhere." The young agent jumped from his chair again and hurried to pick up the box, carrying to drop it on the floor at Jim's feet.

Jim smiled to his friends. "Thank you, both of you," he said, looking down into the box. He leaned over to pick up his hat, his fingertips smoothing its edge. He looked down again to see his jacket and vest, folded in a neat pile, with the blue necktie laid over them. The boots were tucked next to them. "My derringer too?" They both nodded. Jim dug a hand to the bottom of the box and felt the leather, under –the-sleeve, arm straps and finally the cold metal of the small hideaway gun.

"And," Jeremy added, "Rose was there." Jim's head snapped up. Leroy also looked at him. "She was still working behind the counter as if nothing had happened. She seemed happy and very confident. We told her what transpired at the bridge and she appeared mightily relieved. "

"I don't think she was really married, from what she told me," Jim said, turning to look at Leroy. "And they didn't treat her well at all. She's well rid of them." Taking a deep breath, he paused, remembering the beautiful woman describing the shipping business to him. "She seemed to have a good head for business and her only concern, when I was there, was for the workers losing their jobs."

Jeremy looked at Leroy, who was leaning close, watching the two agents. "I mentioned your name, Leroy, and she said she would appreciate you returning. I get the feeling she could use some help. What do you think?"

"And give up all this?" Artie said, shocked. He looked at Leroy, "Well, you need to think about it, Leroy, what would you rather do? Manage a warehouse or be a waiter?"

Leroy jumped to his feet, ripping off his serving apron, "I won't need to think long, sir." He nodded to Jeremy, "I think you, sir, I will go immediately, before she changes her mind." He hurried out, leaving the kitchen cart behind.

Jim sighed, looking from Jeremy to Steve, "did she look ok? I was afraid that husband might have injured her."

"She said she was fine," Steve said, grinning, "and she sure looked fine. We also warned her about the giant. We told her to let us know if she sees him and not to try to talk to him. She said they called him Tiny?"

"Ya," Jim chuckled, nodding. "At least we don't need to arrest her or even use her as a witness. I don't believe she was really involved in making the bombs. They seemed to keep her separate, let her run the everyday deliveries. They did ask her to look for you," Jim said, looking at Artemus. His partner paused in surprise. "They knew you were injured and were taken to a hospital. They sent her out to search for you so they could find you and finish you off."

Artie swallowed, thinking of all the hours he was immobile, barely even conscious. "Then I am glad we were at the clinic and not one of the big hospitals in the city."

Jim shook his head, lost in thought, "she said she didn't actually look. She seemed too frightened to go anywhere near a hospital. She said she would leave the warehouse and go walk in a park and then tell them she didn't find you. Apparently they believed her. So that's what they wanted out of me."

"What do you mean," Artie asked quietly, staring hard at his partner. He suspected he knew the answer.

"That's what all this was about," Jim said, lifting his hands to look at all the bandages. Then he put his fingertips to his face, wincing at the sore lips and swollen eyes. "They kept trying to find out where you were. They were watching the train too. I kept telling them you were hidden far away, out of the city, but they didn't believe me and then…" he paused, remembering, "and then I heard your voice yelling about elephants!"

Artie groaned, shaking his head. "You should have hollered out to me! That's why I was speaking so loudly. I knew you were there somewhere."

Jim shook his head, "Oh, no, the place was full of workmen and I didn't know how many were involved. And Tiny was there too. No, I was just relieved when you finally left. But then they started planning to put out traps around the building and wait for all of the agents of the Secret Service to rescue me." Artemus and Jeremy exchanged a glance, remembering that was exactly what they were planning to do. "That old man was very angry with the agency. But then that plan changed and I was dragged out and tossed me into the wagon and I ended up on the bridge."

"That was Rose's idea," Artie said quietly, remembering how nervous she was in the headquarters lobby, constantly looking behind her.

"I think she hoped we would kill them," Jim said. Brightening, he sat back, dropping his arms, "Well that's cleared up. However I still have a few questions for you," he said, turning back to look at Artie again. "But I can't decide if I want to start at the beginning of this mess, where you opened my mail and caused the explosion…"Artie tried to interrupt with a loud protest, " or jump to the end where I wake up with bandages all over me."

"I would jump to the end and work backwards," Artie said, mocking his friend's seriousness. "Then just stop when it starts to sound familiar. Besides you need to write in the report what exactly happened in the warehouse."

"Fine", Jim snapped, holding out his hands. "When did all this happen? I have bandages and that damned sticky salve all over me!" he opened his robe again to look at his chest and down toward his waist as his friends laughed.

"Doesn't it make you nervous having things happen to you when you are knocked out?" Steve asked. "It seems creepy to me."

"I hate it," Jim snapped, glaring at his partner. "That Dr. Mary woman was here?"

Artie nodded, "She came a few hours after we got back. You were sound asleep. The more she flopped you around on the bed, wrapping bandages on you, the louder you snored. It was highly amusing." He chuckled as Jim glared at him. "She did get upset at first though," Artie said, becoming more serious, "when she saw your injuries. We had to stop and discuss our work and her responsibilities."

"What do you mean 'discuss our work'?" Jim asked. "What did you tell her?"

"She wasn't too upset when she saw your face," Artie said, "I am sure she sees plenty of black eyes and split lips, but then she saw your wrists and started asking what had happened to you. Then she spotted the," he paused, moving a finger across his own throat in a slicing motion, "and she just went into a panic. She was crying and asking me who attacked you. She even wanted to report it to the police." Jim grimaced and rolled his eyes. "So we stopped and had a discussion about what she needed to know for treatment and what she didn't need to know."

Jim took a deep breath, "maybe we need to go back to Dr. Lake."

Artie shrugged, "once she understood the situation, she did an efficient and thorough job. She even apologized on the way out for being unprofessional. I think she'll be ok. Just don't get injured for a while, take a break," he added, an edge to his voice.

"You're no better, partner," Jim said, teasing now. "But I would rather rest on the train," Jim growled, looking back at Jeremy, "Any word?"

"I think the workmen were going to start painting and putting the furniture back. It should be done any day now." As he spoke, a knock came to the door again. Steve hopped up to answer it. A whisper, a passed note, and Steve shut the door and returned to the table.

He held a small white envelope, squinting to read the small writing. "It's from the Financial Office at Headquarters. Jim? Artie?" He waved the envelope between the two agents who both groaned and avoided eye contact with him. "Come on", he urged, "it could be good news. " Sighing, he opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of notepaper. Clearing his throat, head read, "Dear James and Artemus, we have very important news for you regarding the train. We will stop in to your hotel room after work today." The men exchanged glances. Steve continued, "It's signed Laura, Melinda, and Marlita."

"What?" Artemus blurted out. "The secretaries are coming here, today?" Glancing up at the clock, "That would be an hour? Maybe two?" He glanced back at Jim, "Partner you need to get cleaned up and try to be presentable."

"Hell, no," Jim snapped. "You can meet them downstairs and let me know what they say. They shouldn't come to our hotel rooms anyway."

"Oh don't be a prude, women go everywhere now. Besides you would give me clear sailing with three attractive secretaries?" Artie's eyebrows raised into his hairline, "You must feel rotten. However, considering it's your train," he added, smiling at Jim's glare, "you should also meet with them. There could be important decisions to make, more forms to sign for Charles…" Jim groaned and held out his empty coffee cup. Artie filled it with more steaming coffee. "Besides the young ladies will be crying and hugging you, and all sorts of feminine comforts."

"All right, all right," Jim said, grinning. "But they better not hug me too tight." He braced himself on the edge of the table and stood slowly. Steve was instantly at his elbow.

"Where are we goin?" Steve asked. "Bedroom or bathroom?"

"Bathroom," Jim said, grabbing a supporting arm. "I want to use that shower again. And Artie can find my clothes and bring them in." He staggered, limping on both sore legs, slowly making it to the bathroom. Hollering back over his shoulder, "Hey, partner, tell them about this shower in here and how you are going to build one in the train. They'll be jealous!"

"Great," Artie said, standing and collecting Jeremy with a look. "Now I can add plumber to my list of expertise. Just don't show this to the secretaries." Curious, Jeremy followed them into the bathroom.

Jim sat on the couch, still damp from the shower, wearing a loose fitting white shirt and dark blue pants. He had stomped his sore feet into his boots and barely made it, with his partner's help, to the living room area of the suite. His skin looked pale, in the areas that weren't the various colors of healing bruises. Shaking his head, he snapped, "I'm fine, Artie. This is ridiculous. I don't need foot stools and pillows. Just drag some other chairs over for you guys since I assume I have to share the ladies."

Jeremy dropped a dining room chair near the arm of the couch, "sit and rest yourself," he said to Artemus. "You are injured too, in case you have forgotten." He returned for another chair as Artie sat down.

"You two are a mess," Steve said, moving two more chairs closer. "Are you usually this bad?"

"Yes," Jeremy yelled from across the room.

Steve leaned closer to Jim, looking at his chest. "Are you bleeding? Christ, Jim, you are bleeding, right through your shirt!"

Jim looked down at the white cloth and pulled it away from his wet skin. "It's just that welt across my stomach," Jim said, rubbing at the watery red stain. "It's just weeping again."

"Go grab his vest, will you?" Artie said to Steve. "And the tie, if he can stand to wear it." He looked back to see his partner giving him a sour look. "I don't mind the secretaries crying and hugging you but I don't have energy for hysterics and fainting. They won't like that…" He made another slashing motion over his throat and pointed at Jim.

Steve hurried back and helped Jim slide the vest on. Jim took the tie and wrapped it around his closed shirt collar. He moved slowly and gingerly, wincing as the cloth touched the cut. He buttoned the vest over his shirt and looked up at the group watching him. "There," he smiled, "that better? You all act like I'm injured. I'm not shot or stabbed; it's just scratches and black and blue marks."

"So you don't consider yourself injured unless you're shot or stabbed?" Steve said slowly, glancing sideways at Artemus. "That's terrible." Artie just shrugged as Jim grinned at them. "How about burned? Do you consider Artie injured?"

"Yes," Jim snapped, "especially burns! I should have started with that." He nodded toward Artie's left hand. "How is that, anyway? You still have your fingers all tied up."

Artie wiggled his hand and flexed his fingertips. "Oh, it's much better. That salve she has works wonders; it keeps scars from setting in by keeping the new skin flexible. I really can't have scars, you know, it would make me identifiable when I am in disguise."

"And unpleasant when you're on a date," Jim added.

A knock came from the door and Steve moved to open it a crack. "Hello," he said, letting in a wave of giggles. "You did bring an escort, right? Is your boss, Herb, with your or Colonel Richmond?"

"We do not need an escort, Steven," a woman's high pitched voice said. "It's just James and Artemus. Are they receiving this evening?"

"Or they're receiving, all right," Steve laughed, opening the door wider to allow the ladies to enter. Artie rose and stood next to Jeremy while Jim continued to sit on the couch.

"Welcome, ladies, to our humble abode," Artie said, waving with his good hand to usher them inside. The three ladies swept into the room, dressed in day dresses of bright colors trimmed with lace and ribbons. Their hair was piled in deep curls with small, fashionable hats attached with fancy hat pins. "You bring rays of sunshine into our dull rooms."

"Oh, Artemus," the tallest young lady said, smiling and blushing, "How you do turn a phrase. We half expect an order to do paperwork or run errands when we visit." She moved forward as she spoke, taking his hand and allowing him to give her a light kiss on the cheek. Then she quickly moved to sit by Jim, exclaiming, "Oh, you poor dear, just look at you!" Tears came to her eyes as she took his hands in her's. "Can you speak, James? Can you see us?"

Jim smiled, enjoying the closeness. "I'm fine, Laura. Forgive me for not getting up…"

"Oh, my goodness," another voice added, as Melinda, the smaller, petite red-head, plunked onto the couch on the other side of him. "Oh, you poor sweet thing!" She put a delicate hand to the back of his neck, leaning to look behind him, as if a knife might still be impaled in his back. "Should you be sitting up?" She looked at Laura, as her fingers strayed up the back of his neck into his hair. "Maybe we should have him lay down. We could all just sit on the bed next to him." Jim's grin got even wider as he winked up at his partner.

"Don't upset yourselves, ladies, he's just fine where he is," Artemus said, "especially since it would be too painful for him to attempt to move for a while."

The two ladies burst out with more wails and each leaned forward to hug him gently at the same time. Jim giggled up at his partner as Artie helped the third lady sit in the chair in front of his knees.

"Marlita, thank you for coming too," Jim said, as the two ladies backed away slightly. He managed to free a hand and reach out to take Marlita's fingers in his. Holding them gently, he looked into her eyes, drawing her closer with his gaze. "I just love your name, have I mentioned that?" Marlita's face blushed as her other hand fluttered a small notepad by her eyes.

"Oh, now, James," she spluttered, "you will turn my head." Her dark lashes lowered as she turned away, blushing even more intently.

"You promised to let me show you around the city," he continued softly, "when I am up and around, we'll start with the theaters."

"Oh, dear, you mustn't think of me," she said, her eyes brimming with tears, "you just get your rest. We all want you to recover from your injuries."

"He's not really that badly injured," Artie said, trying to keep from bursting into laughter. Behind him Jeremy was holding a hand over his face to hide his hysterics but Steve was clearly irritated at how easily Jim had collected the three young secretaries. "We hope he can recover completely with another night or two of complete rest."

"Don't let my partner fool you, ladies," Jim interjected, "you realize he is still injured from the explosion in the train? You remember how this all started…"

He was interrupted with another burst of cries from the ladies as Marlita reached up to take Artie's hand. "Oh, dear, we completely forgot. Please forgive us, Artemus," she said, pulling him into a chair next to her's. She held the back of his hand against her chest, looking more closely at his injured eye and face. Her eyes scanned quickly down his arm to his bandaged fingers. "Oh, of course, you are all bandages too."

"Maybe this is too much for them today," Laura said to her friends. "We may need to tell Herb and Charles that it just isn't possible for them yet."

"Try us," Artie managed to say, as Jim winked at him. The two of them had all the ladies completely enthralled, leaning together, hands interwoven. Behind them, Steve was quickly losing interest as he and Jeremy sat in chairs, ignored by the guests.

"Well, you heard that the train repairs have halted, correct?" Marlita said.

"What?!" Jim and Artie burst out in unison.

Laura continued to story, "yes, there was another explosion on the train while men were working. A strange red cloud of smoke was released and caused many to collapse."

"No, wait," Artie interrupted. "I was there when that happened. I told them it was just colored smoke. The men collapsed out of fear." He looked at each young lady in turn. "You mean to tell me no work has been done since then? That was," he paused, obviously thinking, "well days ago. I actually have no idea what day today is…"

"Today is Friday," Melinda said, taking a turn, "The explosion happened last Saturday. The work was to have been completed by this Saturday. Apparently President Grant said he wanted the train repaired in one week. Didn't anyone explain any of this to you two?"

"We've been busy," Jim said, shrugging. "We do appreciate you explaining the situation though. Can't different workmen be hired?"

"Well that's just it," Marlita said, "no one will come back. Word apparently has gotten around with the tradesmen in the area and no one will work inside the train. It might as well be haunted. No one dares go in it." Jim and Artie groaned. "But that's where we three come in. That's the good news!"

"What is?" Jim looked from face to smiling face.

"We are going to finish the work on the train," the group cried out happily, in practiced unison. Jim and Artie exchanged looks as Steve and Jeremy burst out laughing. The ladies turned sour looks on them and they quickly stifled their outburst.

"The work remaining," Laura continued, "Is not strenuous or terribly technical. The reconstruction work has been finished. Only painting, replacing the furniture, and hanging curtains remain to be done. Simple interior design, if you will." She pulled open the strings of her beaded hand bag and pulled out a piece of paper. She unfolded it and leaned close to Jim so he could see it. "This is the list of the work that has been completed. I made a copy for you." She paused as Jim's eyes scanned the page. "See, even the boiler was welded, which I hear from Charles was very expensive. So now we can just finish up the interior."

"However," Melinda said sternly, looking at Jim and then Artie intently, "you must first, both of you, promise that there are no other dangerous surprises that we might trigger. No smoke, no bombs, no flying knives or darts!"

"No, no," Artie said, "That red smoke was the twelfth. We made a list and just couldn't remember that last one, probably because it wasn't dangerous. We put that in early on, years ago."

"I was surprised it still worked." Jim chuckled, patting Melinda's hand.

"Colonel Richmond was most put out by the workmen but when we volunteered," Laura said, "he was concerned for our safety. But he said if you both assured us, then it was fine with him."

"Didn't you tell him you were visiting us in our hotel room?" Jim winked at Laura now, taking her hand. "This is much more dangerous than being on the train."

Laura winked back, grinning, "we also had to promise him we would come when Jeremy was here. He is technically our escort," she said, turning to smile her thanks to him.

He nodded back, adding, "Yes, the Colonel did say something about 'I don't care how injured those two are, I don't trust them with my secretaries'." The group burst out laughing. "I am sure he was actually joking but we thought it was more proper for the girls' reputation."

"Well now that it's all cleared up," Marlita said, opening her notepad, "we need to get down to business." Artie and Jim exchanged an amused look as she pulled a pencil out of her dark curls. "The main decisions are about color. Then we can balance the needs of the mediums used and if we want complementary tones or different colors completely."

Artie nodded to his obviously confused partner. "James, it's your train. I think you should be making the decisions regarding complimentary versus opposing colors. We don't want anything to clash harshly in the interior pallet in regards to primary colors."

"Oh, yes," Marlita said, quickly agreeing, "would you rather concentrate on primary colors first? We could discuss secondary colors for trims and striping if you want to afterwards. First part should come first." Jim's eyes wandered from the secretary to his partner and back, completely lost.

"I liked the paint that was there before the fire," Jim said slowly, unsure of where the conversation had quickly gone to. "Just put it back like it was."

"Oh, but James," Artie teased, "This is your chance to make the train your own. These interiors were there when we moved in, from the last owner." Before his partner could answer, he turned to Marlita, leaning closer, "Maybe if you were to discuss one color at a time with him."

"Oh, good idea," she said, leaning forward and speaking more slowly. "Let's start with your favorite color. What is your favorite color?"

Jim blushed in confusion, answering sharply, "I don't have a favorite color." He snapped a quick glare at Artie and looked back at Marlita, bracing himself for an argument. He could see how his partner was encouraging her at his expense.

"Oh, of course you do, silly," Malinda said, taking one of his hands. "We all do. I bet yours is blue. You are always wearing blue," she said, leaning back to look at his clothing.

"He wears a lot of green too," Laura said, turning to look at Jim's outfit. "Why just last week you were wearing the nicest forest green." She leaned forward to whisper in his ear and his blush deepened.

"All right," Jim said, trying to take command of the conversation. Clearing his throat, he looked at Marlita, who raised her pencil, "this is what I want for the walls. Tan," he said slowly, as she dropped her pencil. "And I would like everything else to match, like the curtains, my couch…"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Malinda laughed, "it might as well be white and grey."

"How about purple?" Marlita asked quickly, trying to continue with suggestions, "the color of royalty." Artie, beside her, rolled his eyes.

Jim stared at her for a heart-beat and then said softly but clearly, "I do not want a purple train."

Artie, suspecting his partner was reaching the end of his patience, again leaned over to pat Marlita's wrist as the pencil dug a small hole in her notepad. "I have another suggestion." He leaned closer, conspiratorially, "you may need to make a compromise. James is a bit old fashioned, you know. Why don't we leave the paint color as it is now," he paused, holding her eyes with his, "since it would be too much work for all of you to repaint the entire interior of the train car anyway. Then," he said whispering in her ear, her hair tickling the end of his nose, "think of some warm, calming colors for the interior decoration such as the curtains and furniture coverings."

"Warm and calming would be good," she said, looking back at Jim. "Green is warm, and gold, which is complementary to the tan. Blue, if it isn't too bright," she began writing frantically, drawing miniatures of the interior of the car. "Yes, I think I understand."

"Let's not take too long, either," Jim said gently, "If possible? I really would like to move back in." He watched Marlita's head, bent over her notebook balanced on her knee. As he opened his mouth to speak again, there came a loud flapping as the two pigeons descended on the group.

The girls, surprised by birds suddenly fluttering near their heads inside a room, shrieked and waved their hands in the air, which only caused the pigeons to flutter even more frantically. Henrietta finally plunked down on top of Marlita's hat, which contained many fashionable feathers and resembled a nest of birds.

"Merde!" Marlita shrieked, jumping up, throwing the pencil and notepad into the air. "Merde!" She yelled again, waving her hands at the heavy weight suddenly on her head.

Artie tried to grab her hands before she injured the pigeon but he was laughing so hard it was difficult to react fast enough. "Stop, stop moving," he gasped, finally grasping her wrist. "It's only a pigeon." He reached into her hat and lifted the frightened bird out of the ruined feathers. "Poor dear," he said, cooing at the bird as he held it against his chest. He smoothed the ruffled white feathers and looked back at the shocked secretary, "sorry, I think we owe you a new hat."

"Oh, my lord," Marlita gasped, dropping back onto the chair, her hands at her heart. "I do apologize. I had no idea what that was." She looked over to Jim to see the second bird sitting quietly in his lap. "Oh, are there any more?"

Jim and Artie both burst out laughing as Jim leaned forward to take her hand again. "No, Marlita, only two. And I apologize; we trained these birds for relaying messages. They apparently are not trained for parties."

Marlita smiled as Laura handed her the notepad and pencil. "Merci," she said, "I think have enough notes anyway," she added. "Charles also asked us to retrieve a form he gave you, James?"

Jim looked at Artie, "didn't you bring that form to Charles?"

"And when would I have done that, partner?" Artie said, rolling his eyes. "Hey, Steve," he said, looking over at the young agent. Steve gave him a sour look as he stood, "could you grab that form on the table? It should be on the top of the pile of papers."

"Who gets things for you two when I'm not here," Steve said, walking to the table. He snapped the paper up and walked back, handing it to Artemus. The girls all chorused, "thank you, Steven," and he blushed, retreating back to his chair.

Artie looked at the page and handed it to Marlita. "Tell Charles Merci for us."

Marlita took the paper and handed it to Laura who tucked it into her bag. "There," Laura said, smiling at Artemus and then James, "that's all the work we had to discuss. Now what should we talk about?" She leaned over closer to Jim and wrapped a lazy arm around his shoulders. Melinda also leaned closer from the other side and wrapped an arm low around Jim's waist, behind his back, her fingertips sneaking up under the edge of his vest.

Jim smiled, looking from one lady and then to the other, and then across to Marlita. He looked over at his partner, grinning, "This was a good idea. I am feeling better already."


	21. Chapter 21

"

Chapter 21 (Final)

The carriage moved slowly through the train yard, slipping between heavily loaded delivery wagons and men on horseback. The cushioned benches swayed back and forth with an occasional sharp jolt as a wheel dropped into a hole or bumped over an obstacle. The swaying motion lulled the two men into silence and they both sat, on the opposing seats, with heads dropped and eyes shut. A large bump over train tracks partially woke them as the carriage slowed to a stop. Artie stretched awkwardly with one arm, yawning, as Jim peeked out of the window trying to see the train. The setting sun momentarily blinded him as it sent rays sideways into his face.

"Well the train must be out there somewhere," he sighed, blinking inside the darkened coach. "Maybe we should have come tomorrow morning instead of tonight," he said, yawning now too.

Artie grumbled, "oh, no, we could not have stood one more night in thick, soft beds and enjoying room service." He tried to glare at his partner, who was obviously eager to go home, but he had to admit that he was curious to see the train. They had not spoken again of the secretaries' interior work; too nervous about what they might find.

Jim slowly popped the door open and carefully stepped down to the ground. He held the door open, leaning on it, as Artie joined him. "The outside looks much better than the last time I saw it." They both stood for a moment admiring the new paint, the setting sun shining through new windows, and the smell for burnt wood replaced by the smell of fresh paint. "I hope the interior looks as good," Jim added, finally expressing his worry out loud. A horse whinnied nearby and footsteps approached.

"Welcome," a tall man said, stepping out of the late afternoon shadows. "You two are looking well." Cobb stepped toward them and reached out, shaking hands with the agents. "I am not sure what amazes me more, seeing the train repaired or you both repaired."

"The train looks good," Jim said, "on the outside. Have you been in?" Cobb shook his head. Jim stepped to the side as his horse approached, "Hey, big fella," he said, rubbing the animal's neck. "How you been?" The horse nuzzled his coat, pushing on his chest "Sorry, no carrots today."

"There's a light on inside," Artie said to Cobb. "Do we have visitors?"

Cobb turned away, "well some of the ladies left food inside for you. They noticed the ice box had melted and some meat had spoiled so they brought in fresh food. I had the ice man stop with a new block." He cleared his throat awkwardly, "They must have left a lamp burning inside for you."

"That's very thoughtful," Artemus said, "it's almost as good as room service." He gave his partner a good nurtured punch in the back as he walked past him to the ornate steps of the varnish car. Climbing to the platform, he noticed Cobb following Jim, the engineer now carrying the wooden case that held the pigeons. He must be curious to see what the inside, he thought, as they climbed onto the platform behind him. "Ready, partner?" Artie grinned, hand on the door knob. Jim took a deep breath and nodded. Artie turned the knob and popped the door open. He stepped inside with Jim at his heels. They paused just inside the door. "This is amazing," Artie said quietly as he looked around the main room. The furniture was a deep golden color while the curtains were an evergreen, trimmed with matching golden fringe.

Jim stepped sideways to get a clear view, nodding, "Bright but its fine. The paint is still the same, luckily, but we still have fringe on the curtains. I should have mentioned no fringe," he chuckled. He turned back to his partner just as the three secretaries burst out of the swinging door with a yell of "Surprise!" Doris Pike and a small boy burst from the kitchen doorway to the left of the room, the little boy bursting out with a "Surprise!" of his own.

The two agents jumped back, startled, hands going to hidden guns. Artie's hand froze on the grip of his pocket pistol inside his vest, stopping his instinct to draw. Jim's right hand started to come up and froze halfway. He stepped back and turned slightly, shaking his head at Artie. He quickly shoved the derringer back into his sleeve gun as the three girls rushed forward, bursting with excitement. But before they could reach them, the little boy darted between their skirts and ran up to hug Jim and Artie at the legs.

"Were you surprised?" He yelled. Jim knelt down to hug the boy as Artie tussled the boy's head.

"Yes, Seth," Jim said, "you scared us, more than you know." He leaned back to look at the group as even more people poured out of the hallway and back galley. Jeremy followed Doris out, with Steve close behind him. Even Colonel Richmond walked quietly out, smiling at the excitement. Soon the room was crowded with friends all talking at once.

"James, come sit on the couch," Laura said, taking a hand. "Tell us what you think." Melinda and Marlita followed close behind. Laura sat on one end and pulled Jim down next to her. The group turned to watch the two men inspect the new furniture.

"Artemus," Marlita said, "you sit in the new chair." She took his good hand and lead him to the high-backed, stuffed arm chair that had been placed near the couch. "I hope you find it comfortable. We tried to have them remade as they were before. The frames are the same but, of course, the cushions did not survive the fire." Marlita suddenly dropped onto the end of the couch next to Jim, seeing Melinda approach.

"Well what do you think of the color scheme?" Melinda asked as she settled onto the floor at Jim's feet, pulling her skits around her legs. The little boy sat close, leaning against her side. "We tried to capture both of your favorite colors."

Jim and Artie exchanged a glance and Jim cleared his throat, "Its fine, and thank you for all this work."

"Fine?" Laura said, loudly, as the men burst into laughter. "Fine?" She repeated, her mouth turned from a smile into a hard line as her eyes glared.

"Nice?" Jim said, grinning. "Acceptable?" He looked at the three secretaries, seeing angry stares, and then to his partner, who was also laughing, "help me out here!"

Artie gasped in a breath and wiped a tear from an eye. "What James means, ladies," he said, waiting for them to look at him, "is that the green and gold are a wonderful balance of the warmth of colors blended to form a comfortable and relaxing space." The girls all giggled as Jim nodded.

"Yes," Jim said, "that's what I meant," regaining the women's attention.

"Oh, sure you did," Laura laughed. She leaned back to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

"Remember this little lady," Jeremy said, walking closer, holding out a baby. The group turned to see a round, pink face looking out of a bundle of pink ribbons and lace. "This is little Jamie," he said, beaming with pride.

"She looks wonderful," Artie said, gently holding a tiny outstretched hand. "She seems much healthier now. Her face has really filled out," he said, making a funny face at her. "Are you causing lots of trouble for your new daddy?" The baby blew bubbles and giggled back.

"Oh, she's too young for that," Jeremy said, standing up straight again, hugging the infant to his shoulder. "She has older sisters that are putting grey hair on my head." The group laughed as the little boy jumped up, pulling at his father's pantleg. Jeremy leaned down, speaking softly, "Seth, not yet. We need to eat first." The boy grumbled and sat back down as Jeremy turned back to his friends. "Your first meal back has been prepared by my lovely wife. She wanted to invite you both to our house for dinner but I suggested this idea instead; easier for you two derelicts and this young man," smiling down at the wiggly boy, "who has always wanted to see inside the train car. I thought it was the only time that it would be safe for a visit since all the gadgets have not yet returned to their usual hidden places."

"Ugh," Jim moaned, looking at his partner, "those will take days to put back. You will have to sleep on the floor for a while." Artie rolled his eyes. "I'll just sleep with all the guns tonight and put them back tomorrow." He poked the girls next to him, teasing, "Sorry, girls, no room for you." They squealed and squirmed but stayed close.

With a swish of taffeta skirts, Jeremy's wife appeared with a large tray of sliced beef, with an announcement of "It's time to eat!" The three secretaries jumped to their feet and rushed into the kitchen. Soon the busy women carried many platters and bowls to the new table as the men talked and poured glasses of wine.

The little boy had jumped to the couch to sit next to Jim when the girls had gone into the kitchen. He was on his knees studying Jim's face closely, finally blurting out, "does that hurt much? It looks awful. Did you kill the bad guys?"

Jim laughed and wrapped an arm around the boy's side. "It doesn't hurt too badly. I'm pretty tough, you know," he said, tickling the boy to make him squirm; "Besides your Dad shot all the bad guys. He and Steve were a big help."

"I heard Steve hid under a bridge in the freezing cold river for the whole day!" The boy blurted out excitedly. "And then Artemus threw you in the river and you couldn't swim because you were all tied up. And…" the boy paused to take a breath.

"Wow," Jim laughed, hugging him. "Someone has filled you with stories. I'll tell you what," Jim said, "If you eat supper with me, I will tell you how I got my horse. That's a good story too." The boy quickly changed subjects to talking about horses and trains, to his father's obvious relief. "But you have to eat your vegetables," Jim said, reaching out to test the boy's arm muscles. "You know vegetables makes muscles grow."

"I thought meat did," the boy said, as Marlita brought Jim a plate of food.

"Thank you," Jim said, smiling up at her. She blushed, carefully placing a fancy cloth napkin on his knee. "I was wondering how I was going to manage this."

"If you would be more comfortable, we can move you to the table," Laura said, coming over with a full glass of wine. She placed it on a small side table within his reach, as her other hand gently caressed the back of his neck.

"No, this is more comfortable," Jim said, smiling up at her. "Are you both coming back to join me You don't want me to get lonely, do you?" Artie burst out laughing and stood up from his chair. He rolled his eyes at his partner as he walked past, joining the group at the table.

"Dorothy," Artie said, he voice almost singing with delight, "I thought I would be shooting my way into cans of tinned meat for my supper tonight, but instead I have all this!" He waved his good hand over the table, covered with food-laden dishes. He leaned closer to the older women, "You really need to leave that old man of yours and come live with us on the train." He wiggled his eyebrows at her and made a big show of looking at Jeremy behind him.

"Oh, you are a smooth one," she said, giggling like one of the young secretaries. "You and James will have food for a few days. And there is a new block of ice in the box." She leaned closer, whispering, "it looked like there was meat left out to thaw and thaw it did." She giggled again.

"Could be," Artie agreed, nodding, "I confess I do not remember." Melinda handed him a plate of food and guided him back to his chair. As Artie sat, he was relieved to see everything had already been cut into bite size pieces before serving. Jeremy's wife had thought of everything, even for one-handed eating. Artie relaxed and watched the three secretaries outmaneuver each other again to sit on either side of his partner on the couch. Melinda dropped to the floor at their feet; she had been too slow again to claim a seat.

Guests sat or stood everywhere in the varnish car, eating, drinking, and talking until everyone was stuffed. The girls took turns refilling the plates and glasses for Jim and Artie and took turns stealing seats on the couch from each other. The baby slept in a basket on the floor, covered in a miniature quilt. Nearby, her older brother sat impatiently squirming between the two agents' feet.

Jim leaned back on the couch, rubbing his stomach, moaning. "Now my stomach hurts too. It was the only part of me that didn't hurt," he said slowly. Laura leaned over and whispered in his ear. His face blushed and he giggled, his eyes still closed, "you're terrible. I will answer that question another evening."

"Are you done eating?" Seth jumped to his feet and grabbed Jim's plate, and then turned and snatched Artie's plate off his knee and ran to the table, yelling as he went. "Now can we?" he said, looking at his father, as he dropped the plates onto the table. He stood, waiting for a heart-beat and then, at his father's nod, raced through the swinging door.

"What in the world is he so excited about?" Artie said, turning to look at Jeremy. At that, the boy popped back into the room, carrying a large, flat box. He hurried over to Artie and carefully stood it on an edge by his boots. "Well, thank you," Artie said, smiling. He steadied the box as the boy scampered away.

"What is that?" Jim said, twisting to watch the boy hurrying back into the room with a second flat box. This one was also a large, but more square-ish than the first. Jim glanced at all the guests, but could see the secretaries blushing and smiling now, expectantly, "we didn't need gifts, ladies." Laura and Marlita both hugged him at the same time as Malinda smiled up from her spot on the floor.

The little boy carefully placed the box by Jim's feet. "Ok, you have to open these boxes first," he announced, "you can both go at the same time." Jim and Artie exchanged an amused look as they began to pry open the boxes. Luckily the ends were not secured and were easily opened. Artie pulled his open first and pulled up a large object, narrow at the top and wider on the bottom. Jim paused with his box to stare at it.

"What the heck is that?" Jim asked, his eyes looking up and down. There was a large dial in the lower, wide end.

"It's a barometer," Artie said, turning it to show the little boy, who was leaning close to the dial. The entire group took a half step closer to inspect it, everyone clearly interested.

"What is a barometer," Jim asked slowly, knowing he would regret the explanation.

"It tells you what the weather is," Artie said, half explaining it to the boy and his partner at the same time. The others had also halted their conversations to listen.

"Why don't you just look out the window," Jim teased, grinning.

Artie gave him a sour face, "well with this you don't have to, you can just look at the dial." Jim grumbled at him. "It also predicts the weather through the fluctuations of the barometric pressure." He paused as Jim's eyebrows rose, obviously confused. "I have a book somewhere regarding meteorology. I'll dig it out for you later."

"That sounds like a threat," Jim chuckled. He finished prying open his box and pulled out a very large mirror in an ornate, gold colored frame. Many oooohs from the ladies sounded around him. "And", he said, grinning, "It's a mirror."

Artie laughed, as he lowered the barometer back into the box, "Oh good, now you can count all your black and blue marks."

"Funny," Jim said, looking at the girls, "where should I hang it?" Laura whispered in his ear again and he stifled a laugh. "Ah, good idea, maybe," he said, blushing again. He noticed his partner and the rest of the group staring at him. He cleared his throat and lowered the mirror carefully back into the box. Looking up he said, "thank you all for the gifts and for all of the food," he paused to look at the secretaries, "and all the work on the train. I can't say how much we appreciate this."

"Oh, wait, is it time now?" The little boy looked at his father. Jeremy nodded with a wink and the boy darted between legs to run into the kitchen. Artie and Jim looked at Jeremy, confused and worried. The boy walked back out, very carefully and slowly, while carrying a small box. He stopped between the two men and announced in a hushed voice, "This is from me. I wanted to give you each one but Ma said one was enough so you will have to share." Jim and Artie looked at each other again, clearly mystified. "Who wants to open it?"

"Jim," Artie said, "you have two hands." Jim waved the Seth over and the boy put the box on his knees. The boy let go of the box but stood close by, his small face flushed with excitement.

Jim examined the box, seeing holes in the top and on the sides. Wondering if it might hold a captured and prized creature from the woods around Jeremy's home, he poked it and listened. "Nooooo," the boy said, reaching out to steady it. "Just take the top off."

"It's not a frog, is it?" Jim asked sternly, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. The two ladies suddenly leaned away from him, nervous but still curious. The little boy shook his head and covered his mouth with his hands, hopping up and down with excitement. "All right," Jim said, slowly lifting the cover. He looked inside and his mouth dropped open. "Oh," he whispered. The two ladies next to him leaned closer again to peek inside and ooooohed with delight.

"Hey, partner," Artie said, curious as usual and unable to see the contents from his new chair, "Do you want to let the rest of us know what's inside?"

Jim slowly reached both hands into the box to scoop out the object. He lifted his hands to show his partner a tiny, fuzzy grey kitten with brilliant blue eyes. The little furball sat quietly in his palms as many in the group gasped with surprise. Jim patted it gently with a forefinger and the kitten grabbed at him with its tiny paws. The little ears twisted around and the tail snapped back and forth.

The little boy reached out to pat its head. "My Ma saw a mouse in your kitchen yesterday and said you should have a cat. And our barn cat just had babies. I named this one but you can give it a new name if you want."

Artie laughed quietly. "We used to have a cat. It disappeared one day, just like it had appeared. It wasn't a bad idea. What did you name this one?"

"Her name is Sophie," he announced. "But you can give it a new name. It probably doesn't really know its name yet anyway."

"How about if I call it 'cat'," Jim said, watching the kitten. The little mouth opened and tiny teeth clamped onto his thumb as the animal tried to chew on his tough skin.

"That's original, Jim," Malinda said. She climbed onto her knees to reach up to pat it. "It's so soft you can barely feel it." The kitten swiped at her hand then arched its back and hissed, the fur standing on end and the tail snapping. "Oh, my, feisty," she laughed.

Jim put his palm on the kitten, "calm down there, Sophie, don't make trouble already."

"Maybe she's guarding you," Artie chuckled.

The kitten turned and started to walk up Jim's coat sleeve, digging tiny claws into the material. He winced once as she climbed up onto his shoulder but then she settled quietly next to his chin, tucking its face into the side of his neck. He reached up to stroke its back as the tiny tail curled around the little body.

"Same spot Arrabella sits," Artie observed. "We will have to keep them separated." Jim nodded in agreement, trying not to disturb the kitten. He turned to the group. "Well this has been a surprise. We really do appreciate everyone's help this week. I am not sure how we would have made it through everything. Hopefully life will slow down for the next few days."

Colonel Richmond raised his glass of wine to the group and waited as everyone else grabbed glasses, "To James and Artemus, may their life always be filled with excitement." The group cheered and booed good-naturedly at the same time and then drank to their friends.

**** Hours Later *****

The guests departed as a whole, with Colonel Richmond leaving last. He had paused at the door to reassure the agents that the repairs would be paid for by the financial office with no additional paperwork required on their part. He handed them a card, with President Grant's handwriting on the outside, with a final thank you and a promise that no new assignments would be coming until they both had fully recovered. He left, shutting the door behind him.

Jim leaned his butt against the golden couch and ripped open the card. Reading out loud to his partner, he said, "With much appreciation for your dedication to your work and for your continued faithful maintenance of government equipment, President Grant." Jim chuckled, "I guess he means thanks for not quitting your job and for not completely destroying the train." Artie made a loud hrmph nearby and Jim turned to see him holding a nail and hammer to a wall near the swinging door. "Hey, I don't remember giving you permission to hang that thing there."

Artie's dark brown eyes narrowed as he turned to glare at his partner, another small nail clenched in his teeth. The hammer waved at Jim, threateningly.

Jim laughed, "ok, I give you permission." Artie rolled his eyes and began carefully tapping the nail into the wall. He walked back to the box and pulled out the barometer and slowly hung it on the nail. Both men stood back to look at it, one admiringly. "So how does this work, again?"

Artie turned a small gold hand, much like a clock hand, to line up with the single black hand that pointed at numbers on the dial. "The numbers are the air pressure," Artie explained, "The higher the number, the better the weather; the lower the number, the stormier the weather." He moved the gold dial again, "you set this to line up with the black hand, then you can see if it has moved up or down."

Jim stared at it, shaking his head. "People worry too much about the weather. What difference does it make? It's not like I can't go out on my horse and do my job if that dial tells me it might storm."

Artie made a sour face at him, "well you can just know to keep your rain slicker handy." He pointed at the mirror. "Where are you hanging your new, fancy mirror? Did Laura suggest a creative place like over the bed?"

Jim chuckled, looking at the box, "was it that obvious?" He put the card down on the desk and noticed a small pink jacket folded and lying over the back of the chair. "Oh, someone forgot a coat. Who was wearing pink?"

Artie shrugged, leaning closer to the barometer, "all of them. Probably left it behind on purpose so she can visit again tomorrow and see where the mirror was hung."

"Funny, Artie," Jim laughed, "very funny." Suddenly a foot step creaked on the platform beyond the door. "Maybe they just realized they forgot it," he said, as he scooped up the jacket and moved to the door. "Probably getting cold outside and…" he said, turning the knob and opening the door. Tiny's massive bulk filled the frame of the doorway. Jim paused for a split second in shock, completely surprised at not seeing a young secretary standing there. He slammed the door shut, and turned the lock as the giant's fist smashed through the glass panel in the door. Jim jumped back, reaching for the pistols on the round table behind him. His hands grabbed at the empty fames as the door smashed again, the door frame starting to separate from the walls. He turned to Artie, who was moving toward the back wall, "No! Get a gun from my room!"

The door exploded in a shower of wooden splinters and shards of glass as Tiny charged inside like a mad bull. The giant's hands grabbed at Jim as the agent tried to quickly step back out of the way. Tiny lunged at him but he jumped sideways towards the fireplace. Tiny turned and threw a punch as Jim ducked, the fist smashing a hole in the wall just over his shoulder. Jim tried to twist away, as he found himself trapped against the wall, but Tiny grabbed his shoulders and picked him up off the floor. He slammed Jim back against the wall, pulled him away only to smash him back against the mantel, knocking it from its frame. Jim felt his skin tearing on his back and he raised his feet to try to push the giant away.

"Artie! Shoot him!" Jim screamed, trying to raise his hands to protect his face. He felt the hands release him only to feel huge fingers grabbing at his throat. He wrenched himself away, feeling his shirt and tie ripping from his skin. "Artie!" Suddenly, Tiny froze for an instant, the eyes widen in surprise, and then the giant slumped to the floor.

"Are you alright?" Artie stood beyond the giant, face white and eyes wide with shock. His right arm was still raised over his head, his hand gripping a half broken heavy glass decanter. Dark red wine was spilling down his wrist soaking his shirt. He reached out to steady Jim, "Hey!"

Jim was nodding his head as he looked down at Tiny. The giant was crumpled into a ball on the floor. The head was a bloody mess and a dark puddle of blood was staining the carpet. "We need to tie him up," he said, his voice rasping in his sore throat. His hand went to the cut on his throat, wincing as he felt blood.

"I think he's dead," Artie said, stepping back. He walked to the desk and set the broken glass down. He opened a drawer and removed a set of handcuffs. Tossing them to Jim, he sat heavily on the edge of the desk and watched his partner snap the cuffs onto the giant's wrists.

"Dead or not, this guy is getting secured," Jim snarled. The cuffs snapped, barely fitting around the wide wrists, and Jim sat heavily onto the floor. His eyes looked up at the open doorway and the smashed door on the floor. He craned his head to see the fireplace mantel hanging down over his head at an odd angle, partially attached to the broken wall. Looking down, he saw the stained, bloody carpet. "Well," he sighed, looking up at Artie with a grin, "at least this place looks like our train now."

Both men laughed, relief making them weak, knowing the week was ending with all three killers eliminated.


End file.
